


Ready to Fall

by AlyKat



Series: Something to Believe In [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alpha Crowley (Good Omens), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Drama, Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mpreg, No beta we fall like Crowley, Omega Aziraphale (Good Omens), Omega Verse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnant Aziraphale (Good Omens), There be angst here, Top Crowley (Good Omens), hold onto your butts folks, it can only get worse before it can get better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23507215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: For the first time in 6,000 years Crowley was present for Aziraphale's Heat. His feelings for his best friend pushed aside, he helped Aziraphale through it and did his best to take care of him.Now his Heat is over and Crowley is left at a complete loss of what to do. Until he finds himself desperate to keep them both safe from the powers of Heaven and Hell that are after something that the pair have. Something impossible. Something Crowley would kill in order to protect.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Something to Believe In [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691431
Comments: 222
Kudos: 490





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This won't make a whole lot of sense unless you read "All I Want is to be With You" first. This picks up directly after that fic and deals with the aftermath of Aziraphale's Heat. I'd originally thought of just adding this to the end of "All I Want..." but then decided against it and have made it its own chapter fic. I'm going to do my best to update once a week, but since this first chapter is the only one I have done so far, I'm not sure how well that's going to work. But, we'll try.

Soft light filtered in through the open window, dappling across the floor and over the soft sheets covering two supernatural beings. Crowley had gotten up during the night as Aziraphale slept to open it, letting the cool breeze sweep across his skin and, with any luck, pull the lingering scent of their coupling out of the room. The bedroom was quiet, save for the gentle puffs of breath coming from the sleeping angel and the chirping of songbirds just outside. For just a few minutes longer Crowley allowed himself to keep pretending that the days he'd just shared with Aziraphale helping him to find release and keeping him cool while his body flushed hot, had all been because Aziraphale wanted him to. Not because, well, nevermind. It didn't matter anymore, anyway. The Heat had broken, and any time now Aziraphale would wake up and realize the mistake he'd made. 

Crowley did not want to be there when he did. 

Even so, he couldn't bring himself to getting out of bed and slipping out unnoticed. A few more minutes of holding his soft, warm angel close and secure wouldn't hurt, would it? He could take a little more time to bury his nose in those soft curls, let his hand trail lightly over Aziraphale's stomach, and just... _ be _ . For that one, single week, Crowley had held everything he’d ever wanted right there in his arms. 

Safe and warm and mostly content, Crowley felt himself start to drift back to sleep, back to the world of his imagination where he and Aziraphale were together and happy. Where they shared a life with one another. Oh, yes, fine, they had that already, but there was still distance between them, back in the real world. That gorgeous angel didn’t want Crowley and he knew that. He’d accepted it. Which was why he preferred to live in his dreams, sometimes. At least in his dreams Aziraphale would look at him with that pleased, shy little smile of his, look up at him from under his dark lashes, and say such wonderful things.  _ I love you. I want you. I want to be with you. I choose you.  _ In his dreams, they lived together outside the hustle and bustle of the city in a beautiful manor with sprawling lawns and gardens, paths for them to take nightly strolls arm in arm down. And a duck pond, of course. Because oh they were both rather fond of the ducks at St. James Park. 

This particular dream has them wandering down a path at sunset, enjoying the warm summer evening breeze, the scent of Crowley’s flower gardens filling the air. Aziraphale had taken to wearing more casual like clothes -- still outdated, but not near as bad as they were currently -- and oh Crowley loved drinking in the sight of him. Loose khaki slacks that still managed to hug his ass and make Crowley’s mouth water, followed up with an oversized light grey-green jumper. It might almost have been Crowley’s, but he never wore shirts loose enough to hang off his own lithe frame, let alone try to swallow up an angel. The cuffs of the sleeves hung down far enough that they just covered the tips of his fingers and the body of the thing did a decent enough job of concealing Aziraphale’s soft and supple form, save for the slight swell of his stomach. That was normal enough though. Nothing to dwell on. Crowley’s arm was around Aziraphale’s waist, keeping him pulled tight against his body and was leaning down to whisper soft nothings into Aziraphale’s ear, causing him to scrunch up his nose in that adorable way of his just before laughing. 

It was wonderful and perfect and it made Crowley’s demon heart swell painfully in his chest and…

...and it was over. 

Aziraphale had started to stir, to stretch and wiggle and give quiet sighs as consciousness slowly came back to him, and with it, the realization that he wasn’t alone in his bed. Crowley held his breath, not that he needed to breathe, but, well, easier to blend in if he took a few breaths every now and then. He laid perfectly still, praying to a God who had long ago stopped listening to him, that Aziraphale would fall back to sleep and he could make a quick, albeit undignified, escape. 

Of course, God never had been one for dealing with Crowley's bullshit. So, double of course Aziraphale went board stiff and silent. 

"O-oh," he whimpered to himself, suddenly moving the arm that had been resting on top of Crowley's and gripping his wrist gently in his sleep. "Oh dear...oh...oh no. No, no, no…"

That, Crowley figured, was his cue. It was better to let the angel know he was there and awake just in case he planned to have a breakdown while assuming Crowley couldn't hear him. He stretched and groaned behind Aziraphale, faking an exaggerated yawn before flopping onto his back and dropping one arm over his eyes. 

"Crowley!"

Crowley risked a peek out from under his arm. "Eh...and a good morning to you too, angel."

He watched as Aziraphale yanked the blankets up over his chest, clutching them under his chin like some virgin maiden who'd had her bed chamber invaded by a thief. Crowley tried not to let out a bitter laugh. There was absolutely nothing, not a single inch of skin, that Crowley hadn't seen in the course of the week. Several times. At all hours of the day. 

"Feeling better, then?"

Instead of answering, Aziraphale's hand shot to his neck, fingers pressing and probing against that spot where a Bond mark should, er, would live if Crowley had sunk his teeth in. There wasn't one though, and he honestly didn't know what hurt worse, not being able to claim Aziraphale as his mate? Or the look of relief on Aziraphale's face when he realized there was no tender spot on his neck, no warmth of a connection between a Bonded couple, none of the things Crowley had heard about from the old days. 

Stomach weighted down like a lead balloon, he frowned as he pushed himself up right and finally out of the bed. He miracled clothes on before his feet even touched the floor. Right then. No use sticking around to make things even more awkward. Crowley knew, he just  _ knew _ that in the light of day, with a clear head, Aziraphale would regret having Crowley there. Would be disgusted with himself that he let Crowley pin him down in bed for a week. Which honestly, that wasn’t even true! More than once he’d carried Aziraphale into the bathroom to set him in a clawfoot tub and gently wash away sweat and sterile come from Aziraphale’s stomach and legs. He could have simply snapped and have them both cleaned instantly, but he’d wanted to take care of him; he wanted to keep pretending it was more than what it really was. 

His back still to the bed, he cleared his throat to force his voice into behaving properly. “Right. Well. Eh. You’re fine now, then, so, I’ll just…”

“Crowley? Did...did you...oh dear. Oh Crowley, you didn’t, did you?”

There was something about Aziraphale’s tone that Crowley couldn’t put his finger on. He didn’t try real hard either though, so he couldn’t be blamed for not knowing just what Aziraphale was thinking or feeling just then. Other than horror, probably. 

“Didn’t what?”

“Did you...well, what I mean to say is…”

“Did I hold you down while you were in Heat and have my evil, demonic, mindless Alpha way with you?” His own tone had chilled to the point of nearly being icy. Not quite though. It was that area with just the thin layer of ice but if you stepped on it you fell right through into the puddle of freezing cold water. That’s the stage his own voice was at. 

Behind him, Aziraphale gave a small ‘eep’ noise that had Crowley’s heart sinking even further. At the rate things were going, he was going to have to shake it out from the toe of his shoe soon enough. 

He glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see Aziraphale still in bed and still with the blanket drawn up under his chin. Yeah. Heart meet shoe. Shoe meet heart. Sighing, he shook his head and turned away again. “No, angel, I didn’t take advantage of you, if that’s what you’re wondering. Satan, you can’t possibly think that I’d--”

“No, no! No, of course not! I would never assume you capable of such a despicable act. You’re several things, but a mindless Alpha simply  _ isn’t _ one of them.” Blankets and sheets shuffled on the bed and a fizzer of energy tickled against the back of Crowley’s neck. An angelic miracle. “No, what I was going to ask was, you didn’t spend the entire week here, did you? Did you...were we...intimate?” 

Crowley’s stomach tightened and his lungs twisted painfully in his chest. It would have been his heart under normal circumstances, but that particular organ had taken up residence on the bottom of his shoe now, stuck there like a discarded piece of chewing gum. Almost an accurate analogy, honestly. He turned back around then, one dark brow cocked over the rim of his sunglasses. Aziraphale was fidgeting with the hem of his blasted waistcoat again. 

“Why are you even asking that? You already know the answer.”

“Well. Yes, but, I wanted confirmation from you, if it’s all the same.” 

For ten whole seconds all Crowley could do was stand there with his mouth hanging open. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Wasn’t it bad enough he’d had to put his feelings aside in order to keep Aziraphale comfortable and sated? Why was he being asked to confirm that yes, he’d buried himself so deep in the angel he couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other one started. It was ridiculous. Completely and utterly humiliating. 

“I got you through your Heat. That’s it.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale tugged at his waistcoat another time before straightening himself up. “I uhm...well, I suppose a thank you, is in order?”

Crowley felt the corner of his lip curl and turned to start for the bedroom door. “Don’t mention it,” He grumbled. 

Aziraphale just couldn’t leave well enough alone, though. Had to keep saying things and insisting Crowley listen and just once he wished he could not do exactly what Aziraphale wanted of him. 

“No, I mean it, Crowley. I...well, thank you, for your, uh, assistance. I’m sure you did your best and I greatly--”

Whirling back around, Crowley crowded the angel up against the wall. Not at all that different from when he’d done it in the old Satanic convent -- except, without touching. Not even a little bit. If he dared touch Aziraphale, he didn’t know what would happen. Didn’t  _ want _ to know what would happen. His brain supplied the worst case scenario, though, because that’s just what it did. Worst case, Aziraphale would flinch and cower and refuse to meet his eyes. Yeah, he was fairly certain he couldn’t handle Aziraphale flinching away from him like that. The startled noise when his back connected with the wall was bad enough.

“And  _ I _ meant it when I said don’t. Fucking. Mention it. Ever.” He growled back. His heart couldn’t handle the reminder. “It never happened. Demons don’t  _ assist _ angels through Heats, haven’t done since before the Fall. This never happened. Understand? Ever.”

Crowley felt his whole body trembling being that close to Aziraphale and not being able to touch him again. He’d just spent the last week constantly within arms reach of the angel, always at least some part of him touching in order to keep Aziraphale content in between the waves of lust and need. Now the Heat was over and Crowley had to force back everything he felt, everything he wanted, and pretend like everything was okay again. Like what he’d spent the last week doing hadn’t been mind blowing or anything like that. 

When Aziraphale didn’t answer, just kept staring at him with his wide blue-grey eyes shining and deep, Crowley forced himself to step back and then again. He had to put some distance between them or he’d do something stupid. Again. Sometimes it felt like doing stupid shit was all he ever did. For what it was worth though, Aziraphale waited for there to be plenty of space between them before slipping to the side and towards the door. 

“Well then,” he stated primly, “what if I buy you lunch? I’m afraid I’m rather peckish at the moment and would love to go to that little Italian place just down the road. They have the most delicious homemade meat and cheese ravioli. Completely made from scratch.” 

Even though the light was returning to Aziraphale’s eyes, that goofy little smile of his that he got any time he thought of food back on his face, Crowley doubted he’d be able to handle spending more time with him. It’d be better for them both if he just slunk off for a while. Maybe go take a nap for a couple of decades. Could wake up and find that it’s suddenly 2063 and humans have made contact with the Vulcan race and Starfleet Academy has started up in San Francisco. Alright, yes, fine, Crowley was a closet nerd, don’t make a thing of it. Besides, he’d been the one to give Gene Roddenberry the idea for the show in the first place. He was allowed to be a fan. Not that any of that matter, because Aziraphale was still looking at him with that stupid hopeful expression on his face and Crowley found himself scowling as he looked away. 

“Can’t. Got...things, you know. Demon things. Need to do some work. Cause some trouble. Important things.” He muttered as an answer, shaking his head and already starting for the door. 

He would have made it, too, if Aziraphale hadn’t reached out and taken hold of his arm. Sometimes Crowley forgot just how strong the angel actually was. Frozen in place, he squared his shoulders and kept his gaze firmly on the door. 

At least, he did until a certain blond head appeared in front of him, and damn Aziraphale a hundred times over for that blasted look of concern he was wearing. “Crowley. What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s  _ wrong _ . I’ve spent enough time here, need to do my own work, s’all.” 

“No. You’ve never lied to me before, don’t you dare start now. Something is bothering you, I can tell. I’m not an idiot, you know.” 

“That’s debatable…” the words were out in the air before Crowley had a chance to realize he’d even thought them. As soon as he did though, he panicked. Why had he said that? It wasn’t true! He knew Aziraphale wasn’t an idiot! He was clever, so bloody clever! Okay, so, he could be clever and stupid at the same time, but he definitely wasn’t an idiot. Crowley struggled to pull the words back to him. Maybe he could stop time before they reached Aziraphale’s ears and he could sweep him off to another area of the shop, somewhere out of range of the words so that he wouldn’t hear them. 

If he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn maybe he had actually stopped time, what with the way everything had frozen dead in its tracks. Even the sound of the traffic outside, the birds that had been chirping and singing outside the open window, the rustle of leaves, all of it stopped. The only thing that didn’t stop was the look that crossed Aziraphale’s face. Crowley stood there and watched, literally  _ watched _ , as the light was snuffed out of Aziraphale’s eyes and the damned angel’s heart broke clean open. He’d done that.  _ Crowley _ had done that. He’d broken his angel, the only bloody thing that had ever been good and kind to him in his painfully long life. It felt like that fucking bandstand fight all over again, except, worse. Worse because he’d been the one who hurt Aziraphale this time. Crowley was used to being broken, it came with the whole demon territory, but Aziraphale, oh his soft, fussy, prim little Aziraphale, he wasn’t supposed to know what it felt like to be broken. Not like this. 

Fight or flight instincts were starting to kick in, stirring up a vicious battle with the Alpha instincts that yelled for Crowley to make things right. Drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. Do whatever it would take to get his Omega --  _ the, _ the Omega, not  _ his _ , never was, probably never would be --  _ the _ Omega happy and content again. The two instincts clashed and screamed and for a brief moment Crowley wondered if perhaps he wasn’t just mentally rerunning  _ Braveheart _ . He was waiting to suddenly hear a thick Scottish brogue shouting about freedom. 

In front of him, Aziraphale swallowed hard and finally looked down at his toes. His dark blond lashes fluttered against his cheeks and Crowley could see the wetness starting to cling to them.  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK _ !! 

“ ‘Ziraphale, I--”

“You should go.” 

Crowley froze mid-sentence and stared. “Wot?”

When Aziraphale looked up, the tears were gone from his eyes, but were replaced with something far, far worse. An emptiness he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before, and it was all his fault. 

“Leave,” Aziraphale said again, this time with more determination behind it. “You were right. You’ve spent  _ quite _ enough time here. I would  _ hate _ to keep you from your duty that you’ve seemed to have forgotten you no longer  _ have _ . I need to check on my books. I trust you can see yourself out?”

There was nothing Crowley could do, nothing he could say, that would fix this. His mind was screaming at him, hands itching to reach out and pull Aziraphale back in against him and never let him go. He couldn’t though. For one thing, right then he wouldn’t put it past Aziraphale to smite him down for even trying. For another, well, it would give himself away a little too much, wouldn’t it? Aziraphale didn’t want him. He’d made that point clear when he realized he was in  _ bed _ with a  _ demon _ . No, the only thing Crowley could do was give one short, sharp nod, and brush past him. 

Neither of them said a word, not a single muttered goodbye or promise to be by later for dinner and drinks. Nothing. Crowley merely strolled out of the shop -- perhaps a bit more forcefully than normal, at least, the shop door that got slammed into thought so -- and didn’t look back. He couldn’t. He’d broken his Angel and he didn’t know how he was supposed to put him back together again. Didn’t even know if he could. 

_ Fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time, Crowley. _ His mind taunted at him as he made his way back to Mayfair.  _ Best thing to ever happen to you and you had to open your damned mouth. Good job. Be another commendation there, shouldn’t it? Broke an angel of the Lord? Definitely worth a commendation. _

A snarl worked its way across Crowley’s face and he slammed his hand into the steering wheel hard enough it should have broken. His hand, the wheel, both, something should have broken. The traffic that drudged its way from Soho to Mayfair must have realized there was an angry demon among it and did its best to get out of his way as he swerved and weaved his way through, fast enough that everything was just a blur to him. 

Once he was back in his flat, door slammed hard behind him and plants properly traumatized, Crowley threw himself onto his bed and simply screamed himself hoarse into his pillows. The light above his bed shattered in fear, then quickly put itself back together out of even  _ more _ fear. Why did Crowley always have to fuck things up? Anything good he’d ever had, he’d fucked himself over with. Even back in Heaven, he’d been good up there. Might not have kept to himself as much as he probably should have, and definitely didn’t know how to keep his gob shut and stop asking so many bloody questions, but he’d been good. Then he wasn’t, and he was crawling his way out of a pool of boiling sulfur, confused and scared. He didn’t even know what he’d done, but it’d been his fault, apparently. 

Now this with Aziraphale. Fuck.  _ FUCK _ ! 

Rolling onto his back, Crowley dropped an arm over his eyes and tried to think. Maybe, if he just gave Aziraphale some time, some space, it’d be enough for him to settle down and forgive him again. A month or two away, maybe? Should be enough time to come down from whatever Heat fever he’d had and they could hopefully talk about things and Crowley could properly apologize. Yeah. That’s what he needed to do. He would go abroad for a little while. It’d been an age since he’d last been in New York. He could go to Manhattan, let himself get lost in their SoHo for a little bit. No, that’d be too much of a reminder of what he’d done and left behind. Los Angeles then.  _ The Angels. Really? Really? _

Crowley shoved himself up off his bed in frustration and took to stalking around his room like a caged tiger waiting to strike. There had to be somewhere he could go that wouldn’t remind him of just what kind of a prat he truly was. He could always get himself lost in the Black Forest for a bit. Take a trip down to Transylvania and terrorize the locals a little. There were always those stupid tourists trying to find Dracula. Could be fun to give them a thrill. Scare the pants off them even. Besides, Crowley knew Vlad. He was a sick, sick man, and Crowley knew for a  _ fact _ he was far too busy in his own personal Hell to have the time to properly make an appearance in his hometown. So, Crowley would just do it for him.

Destination settled, he took one last look around his flat, and left. Leaving not a note nor a feather nor even a hair behind. He just left. 

~*~*~

Aziraphale hung up his phone and stared at the wall for a good long while. He’d tried several times over the past week to ring Crowley up and had gotten no answer any of the times. His infernal mobile had been turned off, apparently. All Aziraphale ever got when he tried calling that number was a grating voice informing him his call could not be completed at that time. When he tried calling the landline at the flat, it would ring and ring and ring and just for good measure, ring a little bit more, before a click followed by, “ _ Hi, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style. _ ” 

It had gotten to a point where Aziraphale would call just to hear that recording and then hang up. He’d left so many messages, all of them ignored, apparently. Oh that infuriating old serpent! Aziraphale was sure Crowley had holed himself up in his flat and decided another century long nap was in order. Well. He was certainly about to make sure Crowley knew just how wrong that was. 

Standing outside his door, Aziraphale knocked across the frosted glass and waited. And waited. He knocked again, then again, then tried that ridiculous snake shaped buzzer next to the door, and waited just a little bit longer. 

“Crowley,” he called. “Crowley, I think we need to talk, don’t you?” 

The hall kept quiet, the flat scared into silence. 

“Really, Crowley. This is ridiculous. Will you please just open the door? At the very least give me a sign that you’re alright? Something?”

“He’s not in, dear.” 

The kind, older voice that answered behind him had Aziraphale jumping nearly out of his corporation as he turned to look over his shoulder. A woman well up into her twilight years stood at the end of the hall, back hunched over a plain wooden cane and thin rimmed glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Stark white hair pulled up into a soft ponytail. Aziraphale was certain he’d never seen the woman before. Of course, then again, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d been to Crowley’s flat, so, it wasn’t surprising that he’d never met her before. 

“Oh. Ah. Right, then. Thank you. I suppose--”

“You’re Anthony’s Angel, aren’t you?” The woman asked, suddenly standing in front of him. She tilted her head back, squinting up at him through her glasses before nodding. “You are. Anthony said you might be dropping by at some point. Said to tell you he’d gone abroad for a little while. Needed some space, he said. Did you have a row?”

Aziraphale’s heart sank and his stomach churned. A subtle reminder that he hadn’t eaten much in the last couple of days. Or it could have been out of guilt. Either one was extremely possible. He glanced back to the door another time before meeting the woman’s eyes again. “Uhm, yes. Yes I’d say we did. I had hoped to reach him so we could talk about it.”

She nodded sagely and reached a frail, weathered hand out to pat over Aziraphale’s heart gently. “He’ll be back, dear. You’ve been together far too long for him to stay away for good.” She smiled up at him, all soft and warm and kind, the kind of smile he’d seen so many gran’s give their grandchildren throughout the millennia. “Now, you just get yourself home and give him some time. Take care of yourself, yeah? Wouldn’t be good for him to come home and find you in a state, would it?”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” Aziraphale tried to give her a smile in return, but all he could muster was a small uptick to the corners of his mouth. “Thank you for letting me know he’d gone. I’m sure I would have stood out here making quite the racket for some time if you hadn’t.” 

With another nod and smile, she tapped her fingers on his chest again and turned to start off back down the hall. She didn’t say anything else, didn’t look back at him, just disappeared around the corner that led to the lift and left him to stand there outside Crowley's door all alone. His stomach gave another churn, drawing his attention away from the empty flat. It was definitely a reminder he hadn’t eaten much. 

Shoulders slumped and heart in his shoes, Aziraphale made his way back to his old bookshop and did his best not to feel abandoned and alone. A nice hot cup of cocoa and perhaps a few orange Jaffa cakes, and he’d be set to curl up with a book and wait Crowley out for however long it would take. Even though Crowley hadn’t claimed him during his Heat, Aziraphale still felt a connection to him. Faint, but it was there. They needed to have a talk about that week spent in each others arms. Aziraphale had questions that only Crowley could answer. Providing the stubborn fool would stop putting his foot in his mouth long enough to do so. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm one of the fortunate few who are still required to go into work everyday. I have one of the "essential" jobs out there (yay for working in a food distribution warehouse). That being said, I'm so glad that I'm able to help bring a bit of happiness to anyone who is currently under lockdown/quarantine. Here's hoping this whole crazy thing is brought under control soon so lives can go back to normal. I truly hope everyone is staying safe and healthy. I'm going to keep writing so long as people keep wanting to read, and maybe we can help each other get through all this insanity, yeah? 
> 
> Also, why has no one written a fic where Crowley and Aziraphale are passengers on the Titanic? Like, seriously, that would be an amazing fic, and no one has done it yet. Could you guys imagine Crowley like, on the spot, changing his corporation to female presenting and doing whatever it took in order to get as many kids onto lifeboats as he could? Like, that fic would hurt so good, I offer that prompt up to anyone who wants it. Or I'll just back-burner it and try to work on it at some point. Anyway, enjoy this chapter and I hope to have the next one ready to go for next weekend.

The rain was coming down faster, harder; faster than Crowley could keep up with. Water was everywhere, soaking through his clothes and weighing his wings down to a point of it being damn near impossible to stay in the air. Why had he thought this was a good idea? He could be safe and warm and  _ dry _ somewhere, but no. He was in the middle of bloody nowhere, watching flood waters rise up higher and higher and higher. At least, he thought it was a flood. Come to think of it though, he couldn’t remember when he last saw the tops of trees or houses or even a mountain range. Was he over the sea? That didn’t make sense. 

Somewhere in the distance, just barely audible over the sound of the angry thunder overhead, Crowley swore he heard a little voice crying out for help.  _ It’s The Flood all over again _ ! He thought to himself as he struggled to make his way towards the voice. Lightning was flashing all around him, waves reaching up to lap at his bare feet. Just when he thought he’d finally reached the source of the cries, they’d suddenly be further and further away, mixed with what sounded like Hastur’s grating laughter. If you could call it a laugh. 

Fear and panic threatened to choke him as he pushed himself to reach the little voice. 

“Daddy! Papa! Help!” the voice sobbed, half muffled by the waves that tried to keep them quiet. 

A kid. Another innocent kid that God decided needed to be punished for whatever stupid reason She’d come up with this time. Crowley wasn’t going to let that happen, though.  _ Not today, Almighty _ . With one more powerful swoop, he found himself finally over the source. A boy, no more than five years old, struggling to keep afloat and slowly losing that fight. 

“Daddy! Papa!” 

“S’ok!” Crowley called down as he suddenly had the little boy in his arms. The boy sobbed and clung to his neck, shaking like a leaf. 

“Daddy. Daddy, Papa…”

“Shhh. You’re alright now. You’re alright. I’ve got you. Don’t worry. I’ll get you somewhere safe.” 

As Crowley turned to start back off the way he’d come, the boy struggled against him and sobbed out all the louder, reaching out over Crowley’s shoulders. 

“PAPA!  _ PAPA!! _ ” 

It took every ounce of strength Crowley had to keep hold of the little one. He had to find somewhere safe and dry before they both wound up face down in the water. Crowley had no intentions of becoming a snack for the sea creatures that roamed around in the depths. And he certainly wasn’t going to let that happen to this poor kid. The poor kid that was still screaming out for his Papa and, hadn’t he just been crying out for his Daddy  _ and _ his Papa? Maybe they were one in the same? Crowley supposed kids could call their parents different things. Mom, mommy, mama, mum. It was probably the same for a dad, then, right?

Then there was that laughing sound again. Closer this time, louder, and yeah, that definitely sounded like Hastur’s laugh. 

“ _ Croooow-leeeeeey _ ! I’ve got something you want.”

In the distance, standing on a shore that Crowley wasn’t sure had been there before, Hastur appeared. Those beady black eyes and mangled smirk. That cocky way he held himself, like he had the upper hand or something. Which was just ridiculous, Crowley thought, since Hastur wouldn’t have the upper hand if he were the only being  _ with _ hands. Between one blink and dive to avoid being struck by lightning and the next, Hastur suddenly wasn’t alone on the beach. Aziraphale was there. At least, he thought it was Aziraphale. Their hair was matted and dirty and clumped against their head, clothes in tatters. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed in disbelief. It couldn’t be. Aziraphale was back in London, puttering around in his bookshop and probably glad to be rid of Crowley and his stupid mouth. There was no way that was him, and yet...and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was. 

The little body he was holding twisted and turned, small, pudgy arms reaching out towards the shore. 

“Papa! No!! Papa!”

The Not-Aziraphale lifted their head and Crowley stumbled to a halt. Well, as much as one can stumble when flying. Blue-grey eyes looked out from under blond lashes, that small uptick to the tip of his nose, all soft edges and rounded corners, and looking just as fussy as ever. It was Aziraphale. It had to be. But how? How did Hastur get hold of him?  _ WHY _ did Hastur have him? It didn’t make sense. 

Strawberry-blond hair tickled at Crowley’s cheek, drawing his attention away from the shore. Hair that fell in soft, gentle waves just past his little ears. When they turned their tear stained face towards him, Crowley felt his stomach drop out from him. Eyes the color of a finely aged cognac stared back at him, bright and imploring and familiar in a way that Crowley couldn’t quite understand. It was that mouth though, that trembling lip, that had him staring back in disbelief. That was a look he knew all too well. It haunted him in his dreams. The look of sadness and despair. 

“No…” Crowley murmured, shaking his head as he kept his eyes locked on that little face. “No. No, it...you…”

Lip still trembling, the little boy looked back to the shore and reached his arms out again. This time when Crowley looked up, Hastur had a ball of Hellfire in his hand, the flames licking dangerously close to his angel. He wanted to scream out, to curse Hastur and promise to destroy him if anything happened to Aziraphale, but nothing came out. He couldn’t talk. Couldn’t move. He just stood there, watching in horror as the little boy in his arms screamed out for “Papa” and flailed in his arms just as Hastur lifted the ball above Aziraphale’s head and…

~*~*~

Crowley bolted upright in his bed, a strangled scream echoing through the empty castle. Yes, he’d taken up residence in an abandoned castle. It seemed fitting if he was to impersonate Vlad the Impaler. Sweat had drenched him clear through his clothes, his sheets and blankets tangled up around him, holding him prisoner in his bed. The heart he didn’t necessarily need pounding hard enough and fast enough that a normal human would think they were having a heart attack. He couldn’t really write that possibility off, but he ignored it as best as he could. 

Something tugged at the back of his mind, insistent and demanding. He didn’t appreciate Hastur making a guest appearance in his dream, and he  _ especially _ didn’t appreciate that rank bastard trying to kill Aziraphale with Hellfire. Then there was the matter of that random little kid. Where had  _ he _ come from? Those haunting eyes stuck with him and Crowley swore he knew them from somewhere. No, not some _ where _ , from some  _ time _ ago. That was impossible though. His eyes hadn’t been that color since before he Fell, so it couldn’t mean anything significant. Just a coincidence, a filler his subconscious threw in there to mess with him all the more. 

Yeah, that’s all it was. It was just his subconscious trying to fuck with him. Make him hate himself all the more for what he’d said and what he’d done before he left London. And Hastur, well, Crowley wasn’t sure he could explain Hastur being there, but he was sure there was a reason for it. He just didn’t want to think what it could be. Nothing good. 

Breathing and heart finally back in control, Crowley heaved a heavy sigh as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The shadows of his room were long and gloomy, a chill in the air he didn’t quite remember being there when he went to sleep. And was that a layer of dust over his mobile? Reaching for it, he groaned pathetically. Definitely dust. Explained why he felt rather grimy, honestly. He’d apparently decided to take a...oh unholy fuck...a three month nap? Not the worst he’d ever done, true enough, but still longer than he’d planned on. He hadn’t even had a chance to terrify people. He’d been sleeping since the moment he got there. It wasn't even a restful sleep. Then again, demon, restful sleep wasn't exactly something he was privy to on most occasions, but this time...oh this time it went too far. 

A deep, guttural growl rumbled through his chest as he shoved his blankets off and rolled to his feet. Well, as best he could at least, which wasn't very well considering his limbs never wanted to behave in the first place and they were sluggish from three months of slumber. He did it anyway, though, and stormed into the elegant bathroom that, last the ghosts and critters inhabiting the castle knew, had not been there just a few minutes prior. Yet there it was, tucked away and just as high end as it could get, waiting for him with large, warmed, fluffy towels, just like he'd expected there to be. 

That dream kept coming back to him. Those eyes that he couldn't shake, the resigned sadness on Aziraphale's face as they locked eyes. What bothered him the most, though, was the fact that the little boy had been reaching for Aziraphale, sobbing, "Papa" the entire time. Crowley stepped under the steaming hot spray of water and let it burn at his skin, grounding him. It was just a dream, it didn't mean anything. Angels and demons hadn't been able to procreate for more millennia than he cared to think about. If anything, the little boy was just one of the kids from The Flood he'd managed to save. Or he could have been one he hadn't been able to save from the Titanic tragedy. Crowley shivered just at the thought of that horrific night and turned the heat up on the water all the more.

That had to have been what it was. His stupid lizard brain digging up that memory and throwing Hastur and Aziraphale in just for shits and giggles. The cruel way Hastur had smirked at him though when he raised the Hellfire above Aziraphale's head, like he knew he wasn't just destroying the one thing Crowley cared about more than anything else, but destroying Crowley too. If Crowley weren't such a coward he'd admit that if anything happened to Aziraphale it would actually destroy him, so the dream Hastur was probably right to smirk like that. 

Besides, it was just a random dream. It didn't mean anything. Dreams never meant anything to him, they were just a byproduct of his imagination and love for sleeping. It meant exactly the same amount as the week he spent in Aziraphale's bed. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. 

~*~*~

A week passed, then a second, and Crowley was nearly ready to admit that, ok, fine, yes, maybe the thrice damned dream meant something. He'd had variations of it every time he closed his eyes. Even if it was only for a couple hours, the dream persisted. That same little head of wavy strawberry blond hair, cognac eyes, tiny snubbed nose, trembling lip. There were times the dream turned into a true nightmare, where nothing he did could save the little boy or Aziraphale, and he was forced to watch as both perished in front of him; other times he'd watch it like an outsider watches a movie, horrified and screaming for things to stop, for Hastur to leave them alone. There was one blessedly short one where Hastur had him instead and Aziraphale stood holding the little boy, hand on the back of his head to keep his eyes hidden in the crook of his neck, so the boy didn't have to watch Crowley be murdered. That one hurt especially bad since just as Hastur readied himself to destroy Crowley, Aziraphale's mouth moved, silently forming out the words, " _ I love you. _ " Crowley had woken up from that dream feeling like someone had turned just his chest cavity inside out.

It was the last one though that had him rocketing out of bed and racing to get out of the castle. Three and a half months away from his angel was too long. He never should have left in the first place. Why had he been so  _ stupid?  _

Demons and angels alike had the ability to, for lack of a better word, teleport themselves wherever they pleased. It wasn't something Crowley actively went around doing, in fact, last time he'd done it was to bail Aziraphale out from having his head removed. Still, his heart was dancing a samba in his chest, stomach twisted up with worry, he had to get home. He had to get back to Aziraphale. If his dreams really did mean something, then he desperately needed to get back to London, to his angel. 

They were going to have to have a nice long talk about what their future held.

~*~*~

Aziraphale gave a pleased little wiggle as he took a small bite from his strawberry cheesecake. He hadn't felt much like eating lately, not since Crowley had gone, and when he did finally decide to eat something it either gave him the most peculiar feeling of upset in his stomach, or it was a craving for something as simple and common as - Heaven help him - the  _ greasiest _ fish and chips he could possibly find. The cheesecake though, he'd recently discovered settled in his stomach like a pleasant hug. 

Much like the blanket he currently had wrapped around him. In the months since Crowley’s vanishing act, Aziraphale had taken up staying in Crowley's flat more times than not. He felt safe and comforted by the lingering scent of Alpha, of  _ Crowley _ . Of  _ home _ . It was strange to think that such a minimalistic flat could feel like home to him, and in a way it really didn’t; it was cold and sterile and impersonal aside from the small indoor garden -- that he’d done his best to keep up to par while Crowley was gone -- and from the demon’s bedroom and bathroom. In fact, it wasn’t so much the  _ flat _ that felt like home to him, just the lingering scent. If he closed his eyes as a breeze caught the spiced cider and crisp nights, he could almost pretend it was Crowley brushing past him. 

Another bite of cheesecake and Aziraphale stared at the wall in front of him. He missed Crowley. Oh how he missed that silly old serpent. They hadn’t been apart from each other for more than a couple weeks at a time in well over a century. He’d grown far too accustomed to having Crowley there to talk to, to drink with, to go out to eat and to the theater with -- even if Crowley groused the whole time they were in the theater...unless it was a funny play. Aziraphale hadn’t realized how lonely his life could be until Crowley ran out of it as fast as he could. No goodbye or explanation, nothing. Just that last horrible conversation they’d had where they’d both reacted poorly. 

“I panicked,” he said to himself, or perhaps to his slice of cheesecake, the plants were probably listening in also. “I didn’t know what to do. I never thought...that is, well, I  _ thought _ about it, of course I’d thought about it. I just never believed it would ever happen. Crowley never showed any signs of wanting to  _ be _ with me like that, had he?”

The ficus in the corner of the room trembled its leaves in a soft sort of head shake. 

“If he’d wanted to be with me like that, surely he would have...have  _ claimed _ me or...or at least spoken to me afterwards or...oh I don’t know! This is all my fault, I’m sure of it. He’s gone and I’m left here alone except for those horrible nightmares and perhaps his absence is affecting me more than I thought if I’ve been subject to dozing off enough to  _ have  _ nightmares…” he trailed off, staring down at his cheesecake, appetite suddenly dampened by the swell of emotions threatening to choke him. 

He sniffled softly and shook his head, setting the plate and fork on the table in front of him before wrapping the blanket around himself all the tighter and making his way down the hall. The flat was so vast and so empty, he couldn’t help but try to figure out Crowley’s high end stereo in his bedroom. He needed music, something to help him feel less alone and vulnerable. It had been a strange and confusing three months, made more so with Crowley not being there to tell him he was being ridiculous. 

Once he’d figured out the different buttons and settings, a gentle melody filled every room of the flat. Aziraphale expected that Crowley would have an impressive and expensive sound system set up to filter his  _ bebop _ throughout every room and so, as it was expected of the stereo to be such, there was. It wasn’t Crowley’s usual music that played though, this was something soft and tender. A piano intro followed by the sweet voice of a young woman singing about her lost love. Certainly a strange song to be heard coming from Crowley’s collection, but not at all an unpleasant one. In fact, Aziraphale found he rather liked it. The lyrics were heartfelt and beautiful and had him swaying in place in the middle of Crowley’s bedroom, completely oblivious to the swirl of demonic energy that formed just outside the door. 

His arms wrapped around his own round stomach, eyes closed and neck bared just enough over the top of the blanket that he felt warmth brush over his skin. It was enough to make him sigh and hum softly. Not for the first time he wished Crowley were there with him. To have the demon hold him and nuzzle at his neck. If he imagined hard enough, he could almost feel Crowley’s presence behind him. Spiced cider, woods in autumn, crisp moonlit nights. Flutters and electricity trickled from his chest down to settle low in his stomach. It stirred something in him, stirred a want and a longing not dissimilar to the feeling of his Heats, only not nearly as strong. This was manageable. 

“ _ Angel… _ ” the word was barely anything more than a whisper caught on the back of a breeze. Still, it was enough to make Aziraphale whimper softly and tighten the blanket around his shoulders when a chill went down his spine. 

The spiced cider grew stronger, filling his head and making his knees go weak, and just when he thought he’d be better off just plopping himself down on the floor for a little bit, two strong hands took a firm hold of his shoulders. Between one blink and the next, Aziraphale found himself being spun around and pulled in against a firm body; lanky and gangly, slim in all the right places and so very warm. So very solid. So very  _ real _ . 

“Angel,” gasped Crowley, face buried in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck as he circled his arms around Aziraphale’s soft middle. “Fuck...you’re okay. You’re okay…”

Though the words were said into Aziraphale’s neck, they sounded more like Crowley had to say them in order to believe they were true. Like he hadn’t believed that Aziraphale had been fine, as if he’d thought something had happened to him. 

Suddenly having a demon wrapped around you was rather a disconcerting surprise. It was not something he’d expected and so for a good solid ten seconds stood stock still just blinking over Crowley’s shoulder before raising his arms to awkwardly pat the Alpha’s back. 

“Crowley...I...well of  _ course _ I’m okay, you ridiculous demon. Why wouldn’t I be? And just where exactly have you been? I tried to look for you but your--”

“Had to leave for a bit,” came the mumbled reply just as Crowley was pulling back from the hug a little. “I needed to...I’m...eh…” the words trailed off uselessly while Crowley’s ever expressive brows scrunched towards each other across his face. “Did you change colognes again?” 

The complete 180 of subjects had Aziraphale’s head spinning, but he shook it just the same. “What? Changed colognes again, what do...what...no. No, it’s still the same as it’s been for the last year or so. That one my barber suggested, remember? I told you about it. It’s a rather pleasant smell, but I haven’t used it lately. Anyway, what is this all about?”

Crowley pulled back out of the hug completely and looked around his room for anything that was out of place. The only unusual things he found were the four books stacked on his nightstand, a fifth book on his duvet, and a small collection of tea cups with ¾ still left inside. None of which were any of his belongings. Aziraphale shifted his weight from foot to foot as he realized that Crowley must have figured out he’d been staying over while he was gone. He’d overstepped his bounds, he had to have. Crowley was rather territorial and Aziraphale had invaded that territory without invitation. 

“You don’t smell it?”

“Smell what? Crowley, you are making less sense than you ever do. Are you alright? Did...did something happen while you were away on holiday?” 

Aziraphale brought his hands together in front of himself, fidgeting while Crowley continued to look around the room. In the month or more that Aziraphale had stayed there, he hadn’t noticed any unexplained smells, nothing out of the ordinary, just what he’d expect to find in Crowley’s flat. Perhaps it was a bit stronger than he remembered it being, but, it hadn’t changed any. He watched Crowley’s face carefully, trying to determine if something had happened to him while he was away, or was it possible his own scent had mixed in with Crowley’s and that’s what was off to the Alpha? 

“I don’t believe you don’t smell anything. It’s...have you been staying here?” 

Heat rose up on his cheeks as Crowley turned his full attention back on him. He fidgeted a bit more and looked off towards the empty tea cups and the books and then down at the blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders still. It was pointless to lie about that, he was complete rubbish at lying, anyway. 

He cleared his throat softly before shrugging and looking away, unable to bring himself to meet Crowley’s eyes. “Well, uhm, yes. I decided to stay here to look after your plants for you. I didn’t know how long you’d be gone and I know how much they mean to you --”

“They’re plants. They don’t mean anything to me,”

“--and I knew that if you came back and found them wilted or dying--”

“Oh, I should think they know better than to be that stupid,”

“Well I didn’t want you to come home and find something had happened to them, either way. So, I decided to stay here and keep them company until you returned.”

Something about the way Crowley stood there, simply staring at him, had Aziraphale wanting to move in closer to him, snuggle in under his chin, cheek pressed against his warm chest, and just stay that way for the rest of time. A soft whine worked its way up his throat and he had to cough to keep it from escaping. 

Neither of them said a word for a moment. They just stood there, Crowley staring Aziraphale down, and Aziraphale shifting from foot to foot awkwardly, eyes cast down and away in submission. There was that aching need inside him, crying out for him to bare his neck to the Alpha again. Even if he wasn’t in Heat at the moment, something kept begging for him to present himself to Crowley, offer himself over to him, let Crowley claim him and Bond with him, a proper mating that would entwine their lives forever from that point on. Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to do that, though. He knew Crowley didn’t want him for a mate. It’d just been fortuitous that Crowley had been at the shop when Aziraphale had started his Heat, that’s all. Nothing else than that. 

Crowley slid his glasses down off his nose and tucked them into the inside pocket of his jacket. His yellow serpent eyes narrowed in on Aziraphale’s face, then his neck, then down his body slowly. It was enough to make Aziraphale shift and take just half a step back. There was something predatory and possessive about the way Crowley was looking him over, stalking around him slowly, nostrils flaring as he leaned in from time to time to try and pinpoint what the unknown scent was and where it came from. 

“Where’s your waistcoat, angel?” 

The quiet question caught Aziraphale off guard and he blinked quickly. “Pardon?”

“Your waistcoat,” repeated Crowley, gaze fixed on Aziraphale’s middle, “you’re not wearing it. You always wear it.” 

Aziraphale glanced down at himself and frowned. There had been times where he hadn’t worn it. Perhaps not recent times, but, it had happened before in the past. Looking back up, he shook his head in confusion. 

“I don’t always wear it. Now really, Crowley, stop changing the subject. Just tell me what is going on. Where have you been? Why are you acting so strange?” 

“ _ I’m _ acting strange?” Crowley balked. “You’ve been living in my flat while I’ve been gone, not finishing a single cuppa it looks like, not wearing your bloody old waistcoat, and can’t smell that something has changed around here!” He spun around then and pointed off towards the sitting room where three take away containers sat, one with the partially eaten slice of cheesecake still inside it, and the other two from the last two times he’d ordered fish and chips. 

“ _ And _ ! You didn’t finish your cheesecake and...you’ve been eating junk food!”

“What...I  _ have not _ !”

“You have! You hate fish and chips! But I smell it! You’ve been eating it!”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes as he shook his head. Tugging the blanket off his shoulders, he tossed it on to the bed and moved to gather up his books and the partially finished tea cups. “You’re being ridiculous, Crowley. I don’t  _ hate _ fish and chips…”

“I’ve heard you call them a culinary insult to the discerning pallet more than once!” Exclaimed Crowley, one arm raised to point an accusatory finger in his direction.

“I just…”

“Just what?”

“I just...well...oh what does it even matter? You disappear for three and a half months, then come back and accuse me of acting strange. Anything else you’d like to accuse me of while you’re at it?”

Crowley stalked forward, a scowl etched on his face as he slowly backed Aziraphale against the wall. The closer Crowley got, the more Aziraphale’s stomach fluttered and that feeling of liquid heat raced straight down between his legs. He shivered when his back connected to the wall, Crowley’s body just close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. He’d never been afraid of Crowley before, and he still wasn’t, but there was something with the way the demon’s focus bore straight through him that had him trembling and trying very hard not to whine, not to wrap himself around the Alpha and lose himself in that feeling of safety and protection. 

Crowley had been right, of course. Aziraphale never had liked fish and chips before, and maybe he had called them an culinary insult once or twice, but...still. He didn’t quite have an explaination for  _ why _ he suddenly decided they were the best food in the world and why, for some strange reason, sushi held absolutely  _ no _ appeal to him whatsoever. In fact, that was the main food that caused his stomach to feel that strange upset whenever he tried to eat it. Even the smell was enough sometimes. 

“Why aren’t you wearing your usual fussy outdated clothes, angel?” Crowley asked again, a soft, low growl to his voice. It was a tone that had the Omega instinct in him lurching forward to answer and please. 

“It’s at the tailors,” he finally admitted with a huff.

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t fit! I went to put it on the other day and it was just shy of being able to button. I would assume because of,” he paused, glancing back towards the containers in the sitting room. He really had been eating far more junk food than he had in the past, hadn’t he? “I would assume because of all the...different things I’ve been eating lately.”

Something shifted in Crowley’s gaze. Going from suspicion to concerned faster than Aziraphale realized was possible. He watched Crowley’s eyes drop from his face down to his mid-section and then back up again. Warm hands settled on his hips, startling him, not just because they were unexpected but because of the gentle way they were holding him in place. 

When Crowley finally opened his mouth to speak, his tone was just as soft and gentle as his grip. “Why’ve you been eating different things lately?”

“I suppose because...well if you must know, because my corporation has developed an intolerance for certain foods, apparently. There are several things that are causing a stomach upset if I try to eat them.”

“You’re an angel, you never get an upset stomach,” 

“I  _ know _ that!” cried Aziraphale, fidgeting fingers reaching up to tug at a waistcoat that wasn’t there. Fears that he’d done well to ignore were suddenly racing forward, clamoring over each other to reach the surface first. The backs of his eyes prickled as wetness formed, clinging to his lashes with each blink. “I  _ know _ I never get an upset stomach, but I  _ have been _ and I don’t know  _ why _ . It’s terribly frustrating and horribly inconvenient, and I miss sushi and crepes, but for some reason I can’t seem to eat them and...and…”

His words trailed off as Crowley leaned into him again, nose pressed to the crook of his neck and body nearly flush to his own. It was a warm, pleasant feeling, having Crowley’s body against him, holding him in place. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, his own body seeming to relax some. He felt Crowley nuzzle against his skin, felt the demon’s chest expand as he took a deep, deep breath, and then froze. Aziraphale wanted to reach up and run his fingers through Crowley’s hair, find out if it was really as soft as it always appeared to be. He wanted to wrap his arms around Crowley and thread his fingers up through the soft hairs at the nape of his neck and just keep him held there against his neck, let the Alpha lick and nip at his Bond gland until it was soft enough and he could…

The desires raced out of him when Crowley finally pulled back. The hands still on Aziraphale’s hips gave a soft squeeze before the thumbs started rubbing in slow, soft motions, tender in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Crowley be before. 

Crowley’s voice was barely a whisper, and shook when he spoke. “It’s you. Your scent’s changed. There’s something different about it.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard, finding it impossible to look away from Crowley’s eyes. “Changed? How could it have changed? It’s not possible for it to…”

“Angel,” Crowley cut him off softly. “It’s yours still, but...it’s mine, too.”

“Both of ours? How is that...but that...Crowley, you don’t…”

“Ours. Both of our scents.” 

The air seemed to hang thick around them, dust motes suspended in flight and even the plants in the next room seemed to be holding their breath for what was about to happen next. Crowley stared at Aziraphale and Aziraphale saw the panic and fear overcome his demon at last. 

“Angel, are you pregnant?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, not beta'd, I fall like Crowley. And also, if anyone wants to come talk at me on Tumblr, you're more than welcome to. You can find me under the username: lt-commander-aly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: there is a brief discussion of abortion. Please use your best judgement and tread carefully. If this is going to be a problem for you and you need to skip over that part, it starts at the ** and goes through to the page break.
> 
> Also, I don't know why, but it's like the fates don't want me posting this chapter for some reason. I tried several times at home to post it before I left for work and kept getting an error or something, tried once I got to work posting it from my phone, Docs froze and then crashed. Gonna try again and hopefully it will work. There be angst here still, but hopefully that's the last of it for a little bit. I also tried to throw some humor in and I hope I succeed in that. I know a few parts made myself giggle, so...
> 
> Enjoy!

If Crowley hadn't already had his hands on Aziraphale's hips, the poor angel would have definitely fallen right to the floor where he stood. Crowley watched all the color drain from those rudy cheeks, bright blue eyes go wide with panic. Aziraphale stammered and Crowley swore he could feel him start to shake like a leaf. It was an honest question; a question fueled by fear, but simple and honest enough just the same. Had he gotten his angel pregnant? 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Aziraphale finally managed to get out with a nervous high pitched giggle. The one he gave when he knew the answer but was too scared to say it and so tried to play it off like it was a silly, ridiculous question. 

The deflection had a cold weight twist around Crowley’s insides. There were ways of getting an answer out of Aziraphale, unfortunately, Crowley was unable to use any of them. If they had been a Bonded couple, all he would have needed to do was give a low warning growl, grip the back of the Omega’s neck, and ask his question one last time. Aziraphale would have had, essentially, no choice but to answer him then. Of course, they weren’t Bonded and so all Crowley could do was give a frustrated growl and continue to stare him down. 

“Don’t lie to me. You’re a rotten liar, we both know that.” 

Aziraphale’s nervous smile faltered and he fiddled with the buttons of his shirt, desperately trying not to meet Crowley’s eyes. “Why would I be lying? I don’t know what you’re talking about. It...it’d be impossible for me to be...it’d just be impossible, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley answered, voice flat and low, “You tell me.”

The silence stretched between them for a moment. Crowley’s mind raced with possibilities. No Alpha’s had ever bed down an Omega in Heat after the Fall happened. There was no way to know if it was even still possible for the two to create a life; it hadn’t been done before. At least, not between an angel and a demon. It shouldn’t be possible. 

When Aziraphale did finally answer, his own voice was soft and laced with doubt. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Crowley.”

“I want you to tell me the truth. Are you preg--”

“I don’t  _ KNOW _ !” Aziraphale sobbed, and only then did the fear and worry show through in his eyes. Eyes that should have been so bright and full of life were dark and stormy. Panic evident in every fiber of his being. “I don’t  _ know _ , Crowley! How could I know? I’ve never been before! It’s not like I can just pop up to Heaven and ask around, can I? I can’t go to a human doctor, not without changing how I present myself! So, I simply don’t know!” 

Tears had started rolling down Aziraphale’s cheeks and he bit his lips as he turned his face away in shame. Crowley’s heart stuttered to a stop. His angel had a point, a damn good one at that. Still, they had been on Earth since the very beginning, they’d seen the first child be born and grow and go on to create more life. Everything Crowley had seen and heard whirled around in his head, telling him that they both already knew the answer, they were just too afraid to voice it outloud. If they voiced it, then that would make it real. If it were real, then there was a very good chance God would find a way to destroy it, or them, or both. God had gotten pretty tetchy after all with the whole nephilim incident all those years ago. What was to keep Her from coming after them for this?

Without thinking, Crowley’s hands slid from off of Aziraphale’s hips and moved to circle around him, pulling him into a tight hug. He could feel the faint swell of Aziraphale’s stomach against his own flat body and for the briefest moment the Alpha instinct in him soared in happiness and pride. This instinct, however, was quickly smashed back down by the rational part of his mind telling him this could be very, very bad for them. Truthfully, he didn’t want to think about that. Instead, he simply held Aziraphale close, letting him cry and tremble. He turned his head, letting his nose and lips settle in against the soft, wisp of clouds white hair and tried to think. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley finally murmured, pulling back just enough to look down and watch the tears stain their paths down Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Look...I think the only way we’re going to know for sure is if you take one of those tests the humans came up with. Y’know, the ones that replaced the whole Rabbit Test thing?”

It would have almost been funny to watch the way Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open at that suggestion as Crowley miracled up a home pregnancy test, if it weren’t for the fact their lives hung in the balance. He felt his own face flush hot as he held the box out to Aziraphale, the angel’s entire face -- from the tips of his ears down below the collar of his shirt -- turned a bright embarrassed red. He stuttered and stammered for a few seconds, balking at the idea of going off to Crowley’s bathroom to do as the humans. Even Crowley admitted it was embarrassing to think about having to pee on a stick in order to find out if one was expecting or not, but it was a necessary evil at the moment. 

“Go on,” he said, placing the box in Aziraphale’s hand and folding his fingers around it. “Three minutes, s’all it’s gonna take. I’ll...I’ll wait out here.”

“My dear, you can’t be serious!”

“Have you got a better idea, Aziraphale? Want to just wait around and hope for the best?”

Aziraphale frowned, swallowed thickly, and turned his eyes down to the box in his hands. With a steadying breath, he shook his head. “No. No, I think I’d rather know beforehand.”

“Then go on.” 

Their eyes met one more time before Aziraphale slipped out from Crowley’s embrace and slunk off through the doors at the side of Crowley’s room that led to his ensuite. Three minutes. Crowley had three minutes to try and figure out what he was going to do if that blasted pink plus sign showed up on that damned white stick. Letting out a shaky breath, he clenched his hands in his hair and paced the length of his room, doing his damnedest not to panic. 

~*~*~

If anyone had told Aziraphale a year and a half ago -- after he and Crowley had helped to prevent Armageddon, and after they’d become free agents as it were -- that he would one day find himself standing in the demon’s elegant bathroom, scrubbing his hands profusely under hot water, waiting for a plus or minus sign to appear on a stick...well, Aziraphale wouldn’t have known what to say to that. It was a ridiculous notion, after all. He’d heard stories of angels from before the Fall who would mate and Bond with each other, create new life with the blessing of their own creator, but that had been so many centuries ago. Aziraphale had been just a young seraphim then, not yet experienced enough to know whether he was an Omega or an Alpha. 

Of course, he’d also been a bit of a hopeless romantic, even then. He’d sit and watch from a perch, his legs swinging back and forth, arms folded over a branch and chin resting on his arms, watching the Bonded pairs mill about in the Heavenly courtyard. The Omega’s glowing softly with their rounded stomachs while their Alpha’s hovered next to them, fretting about to make sure their mate had everything they could ever desire and were happy and well taken care of. Young Aziraphale often wondered if that would be him one day. If he’d find someone to mate with and Bond to, create new life with. 

When the Fall happened though, he watched in horror as the Bonded pairs were torn apart. The ones who had gone so far as to tie their celestial lives together perishing from existence at the same time -- having chosen that life without their mate was not worth having. Alphas, whether they had been part of the Rebellion or not, were ripped from the arms of their loved ones and cast out into the pits below. Those who remained became Omegas, if they weren’t already, and were to live out the rest of their angelic lives alone. 

Aziraphale could remember the first Heat that happened after the Fall, all the Omegas who had once been Bonded sobbing out in agony for their mates, unable to find relief during the duration of their cycle. Heats in Heaven were never again a joyous experience, not as they once were. For centuries Aziraphale thanked God that he’d been too young at the time to have taken a mate. That the first time he’d experienced his Heat, it was uncomfortable and embarrassing, but not something that left him sobbing and begging, desperate to find something,  _ anything _ , any _ one _ , to work him through it. 

Arms wrapped around his middle, Aziraphale settled himself on the edge of Crowley’s extravagant soaking tub and stared off at the wall in front of him. He was beyond scared, if he were completely honest. He’d never thought the day would come where he’d be waiting anxiously to find out if he were expecting or not. Especially being unbonded and without a proper mate. A part of him, deep down, had hoped and yearned for centuries that one day Crowley might want him, might claim him and mark him and take him as his Bonded mate. Instead, Crowley had merely helped him through the worst Heat he’d ever known and now...Lord...now there was a chance Aziraphale was carrying the evidence of that unplanned coupling. 

The thought churned his stomach. 

If Crowley hadn’t wanted him enough to claim him during his Heat, what made him think the demon would want anything to do with him if it turned out he  _ was _ pregnant? Crowley liked children, Aziraphale had known that right from the beginning, but that didn’t mean he had ever wanted to have one of his own, did it? What would happen to him if he were pregnant? Would Crowley stay to help care for their child? Would God even allow for their child to be born and grow up? Would it be a demon or an angel? Be born with angelic white wings or as a creature with wings as black as tar? Would it even have wings? And just  _ how _ , exactly, was Aziraphale supposed to give  _ birth _ to this child? No. On second thought. He didn’t want to know the answer to that question just yet. No use worrying over that one when he didn’t even know for sure if it was even  _ worth _ worrying about. 

He glanced at his pocket watch, noting the way the minute hand seemed to slow almost to a complete stop, before lurching forward to tick past the three minute mark. So. The time had come to be brave then, had it? To square his shoulders, lift his head up high, remind himself he was a Principality, that he had been the Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, the angel assigned as the ambassador to Earth. It was time to remind himself of all of those things and force himself to open one clenched eye to peek down at the test perched on the edge of Crowley’s sink. 

Slowly, Aziraphale opened both of his eyes. A soft laugh bubbled out of him while his chest tightened and his head spun. Grey was closing in at the edges of his vision, tunneling in closer and closer until all he saw was the single pink mark on the stick. 

The last thing he remembered was looking down at it and feeling two words escape off the tip of his tongue before the world went completely black around him. 

“Oh fuck…”

~*~*~

The first thing Aziraphale noticed when he came to was the fact he was laying comfortably on a large, impossibly soft but supportive bed. Crowley’s bed, actually. He knew because he’d spent many nights curled up there, nose buried in the pillows that still smelled of Crowley’s unique scent, blankets pulled up around him (only to be kicked off later when he realized he was far too warm to be covered up so much). Rain patted against the plate glass window behind his head, the flickering blue glow of lightning danced along the walls and ceiling while thunder hummed a low lullaby. The flat was silent beyond the sounds of the storm outside. 

Aziraphale whimpered softly as he moved to roll onto his side, curling up to hide his face in the pillows once more. For a second there, he thought it had all just been a dream. That, in fact, Crowley was still gone and Aziraphale was still the only one in the flat. It was only when the cool, damp cloth flopped off his forehead to land with a dull  _ thwump _ on the pillow next to him that he realized it was all real. 

“Y’know, I’d always thought the Alpha was supposed to be the one to faint when they found out they were going to have a kid. Not the Omega.”

Crowley’s voice carried softly from the doorway, drawing another whimper out of Aziraphale. Oh, it was true, wasn’t it? The test had shown positive and he’d humiliated himself by fainting. The wet cloth brushed gently across his overheated skin, wiping over his cheeks and down his neck.

“Shhh...you’re alright,” murmured Crowley. 

The bed beside Aziraphale dipped when Crowley sat next to him, one hand resting lightly on Aziraphale’s upper arm. 

“I don’t feel ‘alright’.” Even though his face was hidden by the pillows, the petulant pout in his voice came through loud and clear. He silently cursed Crowley for the soft chuckle the demon gave in reply.

“Probably because you’ve been asleep for the last twelve hours. Here, sit up. Drink some water.” 

Frowning, Aziraphale shifted to roll onto his back again before pushing himself to sit up. He stared at Crowley, waiting for the demon to laugh and tell him not to be ridiculous, of course he didn't sleep for twelve hours, that'd be absurd. It'd only been a mere twelve minutes. The laugh never came. Crowley just sat there on the edge of the bed, a small glass of water in hand, waiting patiently for Aziraphale to take it from him. 

"Twelve...hours?" He still couldn't believe he'd heard that right at all. 

For once Crowley didn't roll his eyes or give a snarky reply. What Aziraphale would give in that moment for the demon to get defensive, lash out, mock him in some way, stammer a string of sounds that wished to be words when they grew up, and go back to being the awkward creature he knew and loved. What he got instead was a serious faced man shaped being. One that just hummed with a nod and wiggled the glass in Aziraphale's direction again. 

"Given the circumstances," Aziraphale muttered, "I think I'd much rather have a decent port."

"Eh, yeah, well, given the  _ circumstances, _ I don't see that happening anytime soon. Now then. Water. Drink. We need to figure out what we're going to do." 

Glass in hand, Aziraphale tried to think of something besides the fact that he was growing a tiny...being...inside him. The thought was terrifying, well and truly terrifying, and he found himself quickly knocking back the water like it were a shot of perfectly aged whiskey. It wasn't, of course, even though he tried to make it so before downing it, only to have Crowley shoot him an unamused glare and snap it back into water before it could touch his lips. It wasn't all that long ago that he'd accused Crowley of being "no fun". That sentiment still stands. He didn't want to think about any of this while sober. 

**

"I don't suppose," he started as he lowered his glass and kept his eyes on his lap, "that perhaps we could just…" 

He looked up then, eyebrows raised to his hairline and fingers giving a little wiggle in the air, like that was supposed to mean anything. Given the blank stare Crowley was giving him back, it apparently didn't mean shit. Frustrated at having to explain further, Aziraphale let his hand drop back to his lap. 

"What I mean is...well...that is to say, well accidents do happen and it wouldn't be beyond reason for me to fall or have an unfortunate run in of some kind and--" 

"You're saying we should 'take care of' it?" Crowley's voice was barely louder than a whispered growl. "'Take care of it' like we'd planned to do to Warlock and then Adam? You're saying we should  _ kill it _ ?"

Aziraphale shifted on the bed, his stomach twisting -- though who was to say whether it was out of anxiety or because the impossible child somehow knew what was being talked about and was very,  _ very _ much against it, thank you very much. It was rare, so very rare -- not  _ unheard of _ , mind you, but...rare -- for Crowley to reach a level of restrained anger that was actually frightening; a level Aziraphale did not enjoy having focused on him. 

"It's not like you hadn't suggested it first, remember. I believe your exact words were, and I quote, 'If there were no boy,' followed closely with, 'I'm saying you could kill him'. And weren't you the one who shouted at me at the airfield to shoot Adam? What gives you the right to be indignant about this when I'm the one to suggest it?" Aziraphale's own fears had started to build, gnawing at his chest. Lord it felt like that day on the bandstand all over again. If Crowley left now, if he stood up, turned and walked out, Aziraphale was certain he'd discorporate. Or at the least never stop crying. 

Which, when did that start, anyway? There were perhaps a handful of times he could remember actually crying, but this was the first time he felt like the tears would never end if he were left on his own. He thought they'd decided they were on their own side now. Him and Crowley against the world. Well, no, not the world; they fought hard FOR the world. It was them against Heaven and Hell, though. That was before Crowley had helped him through his Heat, though. Before the demon had run off for three and a half months. Before they found out they were, well, rather  _ he  _ was, that was to say...oh blast it all! It'd been before a child had been conceived! 

Crowley sat statue still in front of him. There was something cold and distant in his stare, hard and barely concealed. When he spoke, Aziraphale swore he felt a chill just from the icy tone alone. 

"That was different. Adam was sssupposssed to bring about the end timesss. And neither of them were  _ mine _ !"

"Well neither is this one!" Aziraphale froze as soon as the words hit the air with a sickening sharp snap. His eyes widened while Crowley merely brought himself to his full height, eyes completely reptilian and the dark brush of scales just beginning to appear on his cheeks. 

"What'ssssss that ssssupposssed to mean, Azzzzzziraphale?"

Silence hung in the air a little too long, Aziraphale at a complete loss for words. He tried a couple of times to find something to say to make things right again, but nothing came out. No words, not even a whimper of a sound. Just, silence. A silence that felt even heavier when Crowley snatched the empty glass from his hands and started for the door. 

“I’m getting you another glass of water,” he growled, and really, that was the only way it could be described, a low, angry growl, “and when I get back, you’d better have erased even the  _ idea _ of self-aborting this, or so help me…”

Then, without so much as a glance back over his shoulder, Crowley was gone and Aziraphale could relax back against the pillows again. His face hid in his hands, he whined softly, already mentally calling himself everything in the book and a few that predated writing. 

~*~*~

Crowley slammed the glass down hard enough on the counter that, by all rights and laws of physics, it should have shattered into a thousand little pieces. Luckily it seemed to know this would just enrage the demon more and decided against so much as even cracking. It sat forlornly there while Crowley gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles going white, and shoulders hunched up against his ears as he tried to calm himself down. 

The baby was his, he  _ knew _ it was, the rational part of his brain kept reminding him that Aziraphale’s scent had shifted to represent both of them. It was that  _ irrational _ part of his brain that kept screaming and banging pots and pans together, running around in his skull like that kid from the original  _ Home Alone _ movie. Was it possible for Aziraphale to get pregnant outside of a Heat? It could be, probably, if the Alpha was in Rut and had managed to get to him soon enough after his Heat that he was able to induce one all over again. If that was the case though, who was it? Who had gotten to his angel and better yet, why hadn’t Aziraphale  _ told him _ about it? Maybe that was why he’d found Aziraphale there instead of at the bookshop, if it’d happened at the bookshop, then Aziraphale would know that Crowley would be able to smell them there and get upset. Rightly so, if you asked him. Then again, he didn’t actually have any right to be upset about it, Aziraphale wasn’t his mate, they hadn’t Bonded, so if he wanted to take someone else into his bed, that was entirely up to him. Except for the fact Crowley vowed to find out who it was and rip them limb from limb. To hell with what the rational side of his brain said! Aziraphale said it wasn’t his and by G--, Sat--, by  _ jove _ his irrational side was going to believe him!

Then, of course...because that wasn’t enough to drive him completely insane... _ of course _ there was the fact that Aziraphale had  _ actually suggested  _ ‘taking care of it’. Fine, yes, alright, so, doing Warlock in  _ had _ been Crowley’s idea originally. Yes. Fine. He’d take the blame for that, but it wasn’t an  _ ideal _ plan to begin with, and he hadn’t exactly been thrilled to suggest it. After all, he’d spent several years seeing to Warlock’s upbringing. They’d read stories together, gone for walks and played games, Crowley had grown to care for the little hellspawn more than he would ever admit to. Worse yet, in the years of pretending to be Nanny Ashtoreth, he’d started to wonder what it would be like to have one of his own. At the time it had just been a pipe dream, something that tugged at his chest in the dark of night once Warlock proclaimed he was too old for hugs goodnight and being tucked in. Crowley always had been a softie for kids, all the way back since the beginning. Cain, Able, Seth. They’d been good kids. Well, alright, Cain had a wicked streak in him a mile long, but that wasn’t Crowley’s fault! He couldn’t be blamed for Cain’s hatred towards his brother. That had been the start of it, though. The start of him wondering what it’d be like to one day have a little tyke of his own to teach and hold and share the wonders of the world with. Now he finally had the chance, and Aziraphale had seriously implied their only course of action was to abort the pregnancy. 

Was it so terrible a thought of being pregnant with a demon’s baby? Wait, actually, it probably was. Maybe Aziraphale was right in suggesting that. After all, he hadn’t wanted to sleep with Crowley to begin with. Crowley couldn’t  _ force him _ to keep it if he didn’t want to. Which, he obviously didn’t. Crowley would have to be okay with that decision. He’d have to be. There was no other way around it. It was Aziraphale’s body, it was his choice and his alone to make. Crowley would just...he could always... _ fuck _ , why had he fucked them both over so bad? If Aziraphale decided to use a bit of angelic miracle to erase what had been done, then Crowley would accept it and move on. After a millennia long nap, but he would eventually move on.

“Crowley?”

The soft, timid voice behind him had him spinning around where he stood. Or at least, from the waist up spun around, his legs and hips seemed to be a bit slow on the uptake and kept themselves facing the sink for a few seconds longer than was necessary. Aziraphale stood in the arch between kitchen and hallway, picking at his shirt sleeves and looking like a child about to admit they’d broken the lamp playing ball in the house. 

Crowley couldn’t stay angry at that face. Which just made him all the more frustrated. 

“What.” 

Aziraphale took one step closer, then another, before shuffling to hide himself behind the island in the middle of the room. His well manicured hands fidgeted across the black marble surface, a stark contrast of colors that still seemed to fit so perfectly in Crowley’s flat. 

“What I said, before, in the uh, in the bedroom. That...that wasn’t at all what I had meant. I didn’t mean to...to make it sound like it’s not, that is...oh, no. I just,  _ please  _ don’t think that I was implying that you didn’t help create this life, that’s not what I meant at  _ all _ . I’m sorry I said it’s not yours, it  _ is _ yours, of course it is, it’s just, what I meant was, well you see...I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking, and and and...and well, when I said it wasn’t yours what I had meant by that was, yes it is, but  _ I’m _ the one who is doing all the work. See? I didn’t...I...oh I’m making this worse, aren’t I?” 

He'd stood on the other side of the aisle watching while Aziraphale went from fidgeting to pacing while fidgeting, to standing still and holding his hands in front of his chest, absently twiddling his fingers. Crowley, meanwhile, did his best to keep his emotions in check. He was used to Aziraphale's nervous rambles, Hell, they both had that habit, honestly. It was still hard to hear, though, because yeah, he kind of was making things worse. 

"Doing all the work?"

"Uhm, well, yes?"

"Doing all the work. Right. I have no say in anything given I apparently didn't help in any of it."

"That's not what I said! Crowley, you're being purposely obtuse."

That had done it. That got Crowley moving again, his heart pounding and a knot forming in his chest that threatened to suffocate him. He'd only just come home, and the whole reason he came home was because he couldn't shake the feeling he had to keep close to his angel, yet all they'd done so far was argue. That wasn't like them. Yes, they'd bicker, and Aziraphale would nag him about his driving, but they didn't fight. Not like this. Not since the 1860s. 

"'M not being purposely obtuse, you're just not saying whatever it is you really mean. It's mine but it's not  _ really  _ mine since all I did was supply the sperm. Got it."

"Crowley... _ please _ ." Aziraphale's voice wobbled in the air and when Crowley lifted his eyes to meet his again, they were shining with unshed tears. 

He wasn't going to fold. Not this time. Absolutely not. He was a demon. Demons didn't fold under the pathetic, devastated, defeated and downtrodden stare and lip tremble of the kindest bastard angel of all time. They didn't and he  _ wouldn't! _

_ I am the worst demon ever to have Fallen… _

Moving before he could think any better of it, he pulled Aziraphale in against his chest, holding him close and safe. The tightness in his chest curled even tighter when Aziraphale returned the hug and clung to him. 

"Angel…'m sorry. Look...if...whatever you wanna do…'s fine. 'M not gonna force you to keep it if you don't want--"

"I do...more, more than anything…" 

The whispered reply had Crowley's mind skidding to an absolute and abrupt stop. If anyone bothered to listen close, they'd probably hear the screeching noises as all higher brain functions came to a complete stand still. Even the functions he never thought about stopped. Heart, lungs, eye sight. All of it. 

"You...you do? You...want to-to keep it?" 

Aziraphale nodded against his shoulder and sniffled softly before stepping back out of the hug. "Of course I do."

"Then why…?"

"I didn't think  _ you  _ would want me to. That's why I said...what I said. I thought you'd be furious and leave again. Do you," Aziraphale paused, swallowed thickly and fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. "Do you...is that okay? That I want to keep it?"

It took an extraordinary amount of willpower to keep from yanking Aziraphale back into his arms and snog him senseless. But, they hadn't kissed the entire time Crowley had helped him through his Heat, so there was no way he was going to kiss him now. Besides, wanting to keep an unexpected baby did not mean Aziraphale wanted anything more with Crowley. It didn't make his heart hurt any less knowing that the angel would never truly be his. 

He cleared his throat and turned to walk back to the sink. He'd gone into the kitchen for a reason, after all. The glass of water miraculously filled again, Crowley set it on the island and tried for a nonchalant shrug, his arms folded over his chest. 

"Eh, neh, yeah, well 's fine with me. Yeah. Y'know. Yea. Just let me know if you want my help or anything." 

Aziraphale's hands dropped down to his sides and his eyes darted down to the marble countertop in front of him. "Oh," he murmured, "yes. Quite. I'm glad we got that worked out, then. Suppose I should head back to the bookshop, then. Let you get settled back in." 

"Right. Probably a good idea."

"Yes. Welcome back, by the way. I hope you had a lovely holiday."

"Ehhh...it was alright, I s'pose."

Awkward silences had never been a thing between them, not even at the beginning. Then again, their lives hadn't been turned on their heads back then, either. So there they stood, the awkward silence over them until one of them cracked and moved. It was Aziraphale first. The fretful thing he was. He gathered up the few books he'd left on the island and hugged them to his chest before snapping the rest of his things back to his shop. Crowley's blanket caught a ride with the book that had been left on the bed and soon would find itself draped over Aziraphale's favorite chair in the bookshop. 

"Right, well, I'll be off then, won't I? Come round for lunch tomorrow? There is an Italian restaurant I have been  _ dying  _ to try. I hear they do marvelous things with mollusks and red wine."

"Yeah, nope, pretty sure you can't have either of those anymore. Same with sushi, 'm afraid."

"What? Why ever not?"

Instead of giving a verbal answer, Crowley quirked an eyebrow and simply gave a pointed stare at the swell of Aziraphale's stomach. It was almost funny the way Aziraphale's jaw dropped, his eyes gone wide and one hand going to his stomach almost by instinct. After a moment, he huffed and shook his head. 

"I think I've changed my mind about keeping them."

"Nope. Too late. Not changing your mind just because you can't eat disgusting raw fish anymore. You're going to have to deal with it."

With one last unamused glance, Aziraphale huffed and left. Which left Crowley alone in his flat, once again at a loss of what they should do. Maybe they'd be ok, though. Heaven and Hell both might just leave them alone -- they had said they would, after all -- in fact, they probably wouldn't even know it had been born...whenever  _ that  _ might happen. Yeah, Heaven and Hell would leave them alone, he was certain of that. 

At least, he really hoped he was right about that...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been so wonderful and so, so, so kind! You've no idea how much your comments brighten my otherwise dreary days and make me happy. So, because you've all been so fantastic, I give to you a chapter COMPLETELY ANGST FREE! That's right, there's not a spot of angst to be found in this chapter. In fact, it's fluff and humor and more than a few places actually had me laughing as I wrote them. So, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, there's notes at the end regarding some of the things I thought were particularly funny to myself.

Aziraphale stood alone in the back of his bookshop. Given his current predicament, he’d chosen to keep the shop closed for the foreseeable future. Not much of a hardship, really, but he still found it a bit unsettling to hang a sign in the window claiming they were closed for a personal holiday. Now, one could argue that what he’d written was a lie, _but_ in truth, or rather, a roundabout way, it actually was quite true. It _was_ personal. It just wasn’t much of a holiday, really. 

Crowley, for his part, had been trying to act like not much had changed -- even though _everything_ had changed, quite drastically, at that. He had come by the shop a few times over the course of the week, pointedly avoiding looking at Aziraphale’s stomach even though he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off it whenever he thought Aziraphale wasn’t looking. He didn’t say anything about the baby, didn’t bring it up or try to make Aziraphale talk about it or what they were going to do going forward in this pregnancy; instead he’d sit in his usual spot, scrolling through his phone and tossing quips about news stories featured in the Daily Mail he thought Aziraphale might enjoy. There was one about a dog that had been raised by a cat and was quite put out when it learned the hard way it was far too big for the cat tree. Another about a mother in Bristol who’d just been given a city citation for selfless act of kindness towards the orphans in the area. The one Crowley seemed to particularly enjoy wasn’t found in the Daily Mail, Aziraphale didn’t know _where_ Crowley had found it actually, but was about two mallards that had seemingly adopted a gaggle of ducklings after their mother had been mauled by a stray dog. 

“All the humans out there in the world,” Crowley said, waving his phone off towards the outside world, “the ones who are _so against_ all the gay people, saying it’s unnatural, or it’s a choice, they, they need take a look at these ducks! Tell me those ducks _chose_ to be gay. How could they choose it? They couldn’t. Not possible. Or or or that whatsit at the zoo...the two...flightless buggers…”

“Penguins.”

“Penguins! Them! Bloke penguin gave a rock to another bloke penguin, no one says anything about that. Why? Because they know how stupid they’d sound saying, ‘Oh, well, those two penguins’ they say, ‘those two penguins are are are _wrong_! It’s just a phase they’re going through. It’s unnatural and they chose to be gay penguins.’ What about them? Ey? Zoo even gives them an egg to sit on when all the mother penguins get to sit on an egg.”

Thinking about it more now that Crowley had left, it was obvious in his own way that the demon was in fact thinking about their current situation. That alone did silly things to Aziraphale’s heart. 

Looking down at himself, at that hardly noticeable bump hidden by his shirt -- though, not for much longer -- Aziraphale sighed and rested a hand gently at the largest part of the swell. 

“I think perhaps I should assure you that none of this is your fault,” he said, speaking directly down to the bump. “You had no choice whether to be conceived or not. Perhaps it was simply an accident, or it could have been planned by a higher authority, I really don’t know.” 

Of course, there was no answer, which was a very good thing. He probably would have fainted again if he’d somehow gotten an answer from the developing baby. 

“No matter what happens, though, you should know that Crowley and I...oh, uh yes, sorry, my mistake, I mean your _father_ and I will do everything in our power to keep you safe. Even if at the moment he’s being rather impossible. He tends to be like that though, you know. Suppose that’s one reason we care for him though, isn’t it?”

His hand rubbed absently over his stomach as he turned to start for the stairs leading up to his flat. A nice mug of cocoa made with real melted chocolate and hot milk sounded like an amazing substitute for dinner. In fact, nothing else really sounded appetizing at all, so the fact he’d settled on hot cocoa could be deemed a miracle all on its own. The flat was hardly the most comfortable place to be, usually, but over the last few days he found himself wanting to be there more and more. To stay curled up in a chair, reading to himself (or if the mood struck, out loud) or dozing off every now and then. He’d moved the blanket he’d stolen from Crowley’s flat up there to have something soft and warm to snuggle into. 

With the door shut and bolted behind him, he moved to his small kitchen area to gather the things he needed and set to work. 

“Now, unfortunately for you, my dear, I’m afraid neither Crowley -- er...bother...your father nor I have any idea what we should be doing.” He chuckled then, smiling fondly as he thought back to another time. “We’ve never been exactly competent, I’m sorry to say. Still, I’m sure we’ll figure things out as we go along. You will have to be patient with us, though. I wish I had more information about what to expect when it came to you. You’re a bit of an unknown, at the moment. First of your kind, actually. Half angel, half demon.” 

He frowned, popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth and then another -- the milk was taking too long to boil -- and gave a thoughtful hum to himself. “Pravuil would probably have information that could be helpful. He was always writing things down, you know. God’s secretary, I think he’d been called once. Which honestly was _quite_ unfair to poor Pravuil. He was in charge of angelic records, it only made sense for him to be the one who took notes and wrote up memos and such. He was always kind to me, I think because I was willing to proofread for him.” 

Another piece of chocolate suddenly found itself joining the two before it and Aziraphale absently turned his back on the milk -- which given its reluctance to boil in the first place simply meant it was free to turn the burner off and sit comfortably in the warm pan it was in for a bit. Meanwhile, Aziraphale made his way further into his flat, Crowley’s blanket snatched up on his way past it. 

“It’s actually rather funny, really. You see, Gabriel and Pravuil _both_ rather enjoyed writing at the time. Unfortunately for Gabriel, however, he simply lacked the finesse required to make the words flow together in a way that would be enjoyable to read. He was far better at giving speeches which is why, of course, the Almighty chose _him_ to be Her messenger and _Pravuil_ to be the official angelic archivist. I don’t believe Gabriel has ever quite forgiven Ravy for that.” 

Aziraphale wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and drew it up close to his face, allowing himself the guilty comfort of burying his nose in it to draw in a deep breath. A soft, dopey smile spread across his face and he wiggle slightly to himself, one more square of chocolate disappearing from the wrapper it had been in. Still wandering around his flat aimlessly, he continued to talk to himself. Well, no, not to himself, he was talking to someone; it just happened to be a someone that undoubtedly couldn’t hear him because they didn’t have ears yet. Or did they? Did human babies have ears and auditory senses three months into their development? He’d have to see if he had any books on the subject.

“I wonder if Ravy would accept a call from me after all these years.” He wondered out loud. Once upon a time, Pravuil had been perhaps the closest thing to a friend Aziraphale had up in Heaven. If nothing else, it would be nice to speak with them again. It would be even better to gather whatever kind of information the archivist could dig up for him. Aziraphale curled himself up into the corner of his sofa, completely wrapped up in Crowley’s blanket and surrounded by soft, overstuffed pillows. “I must admit,” he continued saying, “the last time I called up to the Head Office, it ended in a very untimely discorporation that I would very much like to avoid. Especially as I don’t know how it would affect you. No, I think avoiding discorporation is in both of our self-interests. Not to mention I don’t dare to think what your-- what Crow--oh we really _must_ decide what to call him! I don’t want you to be as confused as I am at the moment.”

Another piece of chocolate disappeared while he considered his thoughts for a few minutes longer. He would just have to get used to referring to Crowley as the father, he supposed. It was true, after all, Crowley was the father, would only be right to call him that. Yes. Aziraphale would make it a point to only refer to Crowley as “your father” while speaking to the baby, _their_ baby. With a decided nod, he glanced down to the empty chocolate bar wrapper in his hands and frowned. 

“It wasn’t necessary to insist on having the whole bar, was it?” He muttered to his bump. “Bit greedy of you, really.” 

Without another word, Aziraphale tossed the wrapper into the small rubbish bin nearby and stood to make his way to the phone. It couldn’t hurt to try calling up to the archives. Worst that could happen is Pravuil refuses the call. Right? Surely that was the worst that could happen.

For a good solid ten seconds there is absolutely no sound coming from the receiver. Aziraphale fidgeted, wondering if perhaps the call didn’t go through or if it had been dropped. At least, until he heard one tinny ring, then another, and finally a third before it connected through. 

“ _Angelic Affairs and Documentation Archives, how may I direct your call?_ ”

“Oh, uhm, yes, hello. I was hoping to speak to Pravuil, please?”

“ _Who_?”

“Pravuil. Surely you must know the angel in charge of the records.”

“ _Course I do, what do you take me for? A cherub?_ ” 

Aziraphale fiddled with the cord from the phone, wrapping it around his fingers anxiously. Whoever the angel on the other end of the line was, they weren’t the least bit helpful and frankly he didn’t care for their tone, either. Not that there was anything he could do about it, it just irked him.

“Now really, there’s no need for that. I simply wish to speak to Pravuil. If you’d be so kind.”

“ _Look, if you want to talk to the angel in charge of the records, you wanna talk to Zekael. She’s been handling all the records for the last four-hundred-years. I’ll connect you, please hold._ ”

“Oh! No, no no no! Please, that...that won’t be necessary.” Panic rose up in his chest, the hand that once was tangled in a coiled cord now free and resting protectively over his stomach. He didn’t know who this Zekael was, and he certainly didn’t know if she could be trusted. “Uhm, please, if you could just tell me how I can reach Pravuil, I’d be entirely grateful. They’re a...uhm...an old friend of mine. I’m afraid we’ve...lost touch?”

Another long stretch of silence answered him. Heart heavy and sinking fast, he tried to think of how else he could get hold of the angel when the voice from before piped back in with a put upon sigh. 

“ _They’ve retired. Gone to the south coast. Give me a moment, I’ll try to connect you_ ,” they grumbled. Aziraphale could have been wrong, but he thought he heard them mutter something under their breath that sounded suspiciously like, “ _I’m not the damned switchboard operator. Don’t have time to be connecting calls like some--”_

The line clicked once, then filled with the sounds of...well...music. Quite. Literally. 

_\--I’ve even heard her singing in the Abbey._

_She’s always late for chapel_

_But her penitence is real._

_She’s always late for everything_

_Except for every meal._

_I hate to have to say it_

_But I very firmly feel_

_Maria’s not an asset to the abb--_

“ _‘ullo? Who’s this? What do you want?”_

Startled, Aziraphale clamored to catch the phone as it fell and bounced from hand to hand before finally getting a firm hold on it and putting it back to his ear. 

“Hello! Oh--” he fussed, pulled the phone away from his ear, turned it the right way up, and tried again. “Ah, yes, hello, Pravuil, my old mate. How’ve you been? Treated well, I hope.”

“ _The twat Gabriel forced me into retirement. Now who is this?_ ”

Yes. That did rather sound exactly like something Gabriel would do. Especially to Pravuil. Aziraphale tried to force back the disappointment in his voice when he answered, “It’s me, uhm, that is, Aziraphale, I mean. Look, my good being, I was hoping you could assist me in some research I’ve been working on. I’m looking for information regarding the Bon--”

“ _Aziraphale?_ ” Pravuil interrupted, not sounding over impressed or familiar with the name. “ _Aziraphale...hold on...didn’t you spit Hellfire in Gabriel’s face not too long ago?_ ”

 _No, actually, that had been Crowley,_ Aziraphale wanted to say. _Crowley decided breathing Hellfire at Gabriel was a brilliant idea._ That wasn’t at all what he actually answered with, though. It wouldn’t do for it to get around that Aziraphale didn’t have the faintest idea how to breathe fire, let alone _Hellfire_ , and that he _certainly_ never would have done such a thing even if it really had been him all along. That would surely get him (and Crowley, of course) into some serious trouble. All things considering, Aziraphale wanted to try and avoid trouble at all costs if he could, thank you. 

“Uh...yes? Yes, that...that was certainly me. I mean, of course it would _have_ to have been me. Who else could it have been?” His voice pitched up at the end, the words barely audible through his nervous giggle. With a quick clearing of his throat, he pushed the nerves aside and tried to get what he needed to ask out before Pravuil interrupted again. “Now, as I was saying. I would like your help in finding any information you have on the Old--”

“ _Wait...oh! Oh,_ Aziraphale _! Well, paint my wings, how have you been? Still on Earth, I take it? Didn’t recognize the number when it came through. CelesComms isn’t what they used to be, you know? Phones don’t work half the time, and don’t get me_ started _on their so-called ‘Fastest Internet Ever’ plan. I’m fairly certain whatever anyone wanted to look up, I could still find it faster than that thrice damned internet of theirs. Can’t stay connected for anything. But what do you expect when their spokesangel is that wank wings Gabriel, standing there with his big fake smile, all, ‘_ Be not afraid. I bring you glad tidings. With the all new CelesComms Network.’ _Should have known it wouldn’t work for shit. Makes it very hard to watch my shows, you know? Now I’ll never know what happens on_ Firefly _._ ”

“Wash dies, it’s very sad. That’s not why I’m--”

“ _SPOILERS! Bless you, you series ruiner!_ ”

Oh this was not going the way he’d hoped it would. Not even slightly the way he’d hoped it would. Maybe he should just hang up and hope for the best? What was that saying he’d heard more than a few times now? _Ignorance is bliss. Tis folly to be wise_ . Well, that certainly sounded about right. With a _thwump_ , Aziraphale plopped himself back down on the sofa and just pressed his face into Crowley’s blanket. Oh what he’d give to have that ridiculous old serpent there with him. Crowley would get Ravy to listen and stop interrupting. He’d probably also cause the poor angel to discorporate though, so probably better he was nowhere in sight. 

After what felt like hours of listening to Pravuil carry on about Aziraphale ruining the show for him (and honestly, how ridiculous was that? In truth, Aziraphale didn’t even _know_ what _Firefly_ was aside from a show on the telly. And the only reason he knew that much was because of Crowley -- which was also how he knew about Wash dying; Crowley had been inconsolable for days), Aziraphale had finally had enough. His moods were wreaking havoc on him to begin with, so he really couldn’t be blamed if he happened to snap a bit. 

“Pravuil! Are you _quite_ finished yet? I called you because I knew I could trust you to find information for me as discreetly as possible, but now I’m beginning to reconsider! I’ve half a mind to call the Archives back and speak to whoever this Zekael is!” 

There was a pause, then a subdued, “ _You wouldn’t. Zekael doesn’t know her arse from her elbows._ ”

Well, the years certainly had brought a change about the old archivist, that was obvious. The Pravuil Aziraphale remembered generally kept their opinions to themself. Helped them remain unbiased while handling the records and documents. This Pravuil _clearly_ had things they no longer needed to censure themself with. 

“If you’re going to keep carrying on like you are, then, yes. Yes, I have every intention to do just that. Now. Will you let me speak, or should we say our goodbyes and go our separate ways?”

A quiet shuffling sound came through the line, followed by what could only be a chair scraping across a tiled floor before Pravuil sighed. “ _No...no, I...I apologize, Ira. What can I help you with? You said you’re doing research?_ ”

Finally getting somewhere, Aziraphale quickly launched into his explanation, detailing what sort of information he was looking for. Specifically about Omegas that were expecting. An angelic version of _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_ , if you will. Questions tumbled through Aziraphale’s head, begging for there to be an answer buried somewhere deep within the archives Pravuil could find for him. When he’d finished his rambling requests, it felt like a weight had suddenly lifted from his shoulders. There wouldn’t be anything involving an angel/demon union, but, maybe it wouldn’t be any different from the old ways. That was his hope, at least. 

Except, once he’d finished explaining himself, Aziraphale was met with absolute silence from the other end of the line. In fact, it had been silent for more than just a couple of minutes. He’d begun to think Pravuil had hung up on him. Or perhaps they were disconnected? Ravy had said that their phones only sometimes worked. It was possible that they were disconnected some time ago and Aziraphale simply hadn’t noticed, had just kept rattling on to dead air. As it turned out though, Ravy had just been sitting quiet as a church mouse, which once they started talking again, Aziraphale almost wished they’d stayed as quiet as a church mouse. 

“ _That’s...oddly specific research, Ira,_ ” they finally replied, once again using a nickname Aziraphale would be forced to smite anyone who dared repeat it. He wasn’t particularly fond of Ravy using it, but since the archiving angel had been the one to bestow it upon him so many centuries ago, and Aziraphale had returned the favor by calling them Ravy, it seemed only fair that they be allowed to use it. “ _Of all the things you could be researching, why that?_ ”

Aziraphale swallowed thickly, looked down to his stomach, and swallowed again. That strange upset feeling had started up again part way through his explanation, it was a feeling he did not enjoy one little bit. When he answered, he had to close his eyes and tilt his head back against the cushions of his sofa; his voice just on the wrong side of being tense and rough while he willed the feeling to subside (which only partially worked, for about two minutes, then started up full-force all over again). 

“Oh, you know, rather...rather silly reason, really.” He paused to take a deep, slow breath and miracle up a glass of water to sip from. “I thought I’d try my hand at writing, that’s all. A bit of...uhm...historical fiction. Something that deals with a world where Alphas and Omegas are the known designations.”

“ _And that requires all the information I have about Mating and Heats and Bondings? Specifically related to Omegas?”_

“Uhm. Yes! Well, it’s, well you see it’s a story based around a, a, an Omega who must learn how to, to _handle_ , being an unclaimed bearer. It’d be a real page turner, I can already promise you that!” Another nervous laugh bubbled up and trickled past his lips. Followed closely by the feeling of wanting to be sick. 

“ _Uh...huh. Right._ ” 

That was not the voice of an angel who believed what they’d just been told. That was the voice of an angel who had no doubt already figured him out. Aziraphale quickly took another few sips of his water, desperate to calm his stomach a bit. When the water didn’t work, he changed it to a nice, soothing cup of Earl Grey. 

Which promptly had him pulling the phone away from his ear and covering the mouth piece so he could hack and gag unnoticed. Chocolate he could eat. Fish and Chips were practically his only diet anymore. Anything sweet or greasy was fine. Give him a right proper cuppa, though, and his stomach tried to forcefully evict it. 

“ _Aziraphale?_ ”

Still coughing, he brought the phone back up to his ear. “Yes, sorry, I’m still here. What were you saying?”

“ _Oh, nothing really, just wondered if you’d managed to get yourself in a spot of trouble, is all. You haven’t, have you?_ ”

“N-Now...now don’t go being ridiculous! There is no trouble, whatsoever. Just curious.”

“ _For your...book?_ ”

“Yes. Exactly that. Now...if you could post me whatever you happen to find, I would be ever so grateful to you.”

“ _Grateful ‘nough to name your first born after me_?”

“Oh, well, yes, of cour--” the words froze in his mouth before he could finish saying them. His eyes locked on a spot on the wall across from him. Had that bit of discoloration always been right there? Perhaps it was a good time to learn the fine art of dissociation. What would happen if he hung up right now? 

Pravuil’s voice carried through the phone, it just took awhile for Aziraphale’s brain to fully process the fact he was being spoken to again. It was too busy trying not to go completely, oh what was that saying again? Not to go all Blue Screen of Doom on him. 

“ _I’m not going to ask how you got yourself into this mess. The less I know, the better, I think. Not sure how much I’ll be able to find that’ll be useful to you though. I assume you know the Lord won’t allow it to live, though, yes? Probably lucky She hasn’t struck the mother down._ ”

“Mother…? I...uhm...pardon? What, what do you mean ‘hasn’t struck the mother down’?”

“ _After the whole Nephilim thing, thought She’d made it clear angels and humans would not be reproducing any time soon._ ”

Aziraphale’s stomach twisted up into a tighter knot. Heat prickled uncomfortably at the backs of his eyes as he tried to answer without giving himself away. A valiant, but futile, attempt. 

“The whole... _Nephilim_...thing...yes. Quite.” His voice wobbled and he realized belatedly that it was no doubt muffled by Crowley’s blanket. The thought of God coming out of her seclusion to make a personal appearance on Earth just to strike him down was beyond terrifying. It was reasonable, sure, but terrifying just the same. Worse though was imagining what would happen to Crowley if he were ever found out. The Almighty was merciful, there was a chance Crowley would be fine. Except, Aziraphale remembered what happened to those who defied God and went against Her rulings. It never turned out well for anyone involved. 

“Uhm, Pravuil? Perhaps...I’d best let you go. I...just remembered I...well, that is, I mean. There’s this... _thing_...I need to--”

“ _Bless everything,_ ” breathed the archivist. “ _It’s not a human that’s pregnant. It’s you. Isn’t it?_ ”

On second thought, the Lord is often busy. Aziraphale would just save Her the trouble of coming down from Heaven and he would just let himself discorporate on his own, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Crowley obsessing over the mallards that adopted the orphaned ducklings and about the gay penguins (after forgetting what kind of bird they were) at the zoo.  
> 2\. So, did a bit of digging around, looking to see if there was an angel who was in charge of keeping written history and it turns out in the second book of Enoch, Pravuil is an archangel who is God's scribe and record keeper. Also turns out, that Archangel Gabriel is also (feel free to laugh with me about the irony in this) said to be the one who helps inspire writers and was often depicted as having a writing kit with him. So, I figure, it'd be hilarious if both of them wanted to be in charge of the archives and Gabriel got all salty when he didn't get it.  
> 3\. Speaking of our dear Gabe... "Be not afraid. For I bring you glad tidings. With the all new CelesComms Network." Ok?! OK?! Just...I mean, can you imagine him doing freaking photoshoots and commercials for an angelic communications company? I mean, I'm still dying over it!  
> 4\. Why YES, the hold music in Heaven IS the soundtrack to The Sound of Music. And yes, I intentionally chose "A Problem Like Maria" and that particular verse as the one that juuuuuuuuuust so happens to be playing when Aziraphale gets put on hold.  
> 5\. "On second thought, the Lord is often busy" -- to anyone who can guess the movie and character I snatched that line from WITHOUT using the google, a gold star to you because omg that's gotta be my favorite line of all time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit late. I was having issues with writing this one for some reason. Also, I'm going to apologize for something else. You'll know it when you get to it.

Crowley paced through his flat, scrolling up and down the internet on his phone. Unlimited sources of knowledge, that's what he'd pitched the whole thing as back to head office. So many ways and chances to cause descent and discord, cause an uprising, give access to people to do things like divert money into a Swiss bank account or some nonsense like that. It'd been a great idea, internet, but like so many of Crowley's grand and impressive ideas, it had a way of coming back to bite him in the ass. Oh he'd found page after page after page of sites dedicated to exploring the lore and legend of angels taking human lovers and having children with them (there was nothing lore nor legend about those psychopaths, Crowley actually feared they were the worst kind of evil to ever be created, honestly); he'd even found several sites that hosted imaginative works of fiction about angels falling in love with humans or demons (or human-shaped demons, or human-shaped shifters, or vampires, or each other); though, he wasn't quite sure how he wound up on a site that held nothing but images and short animated videos of anamorphic animals of various breeds and designs fucking other anamorphic animals (sometimes humans). 

With a low growl, he fought back the immense urge to throw his phone against the wall and just let it sit on the floor in a pile of broken plastic and circuitry to think about how it had offended him. 

It probably was stupid to hope there was something helpful on there about an angel and a demon having a child together, but, well, Crowley supposed he was just optimistic like that. There was no one Downstairs he trusted enough to talk to about any of this, besides, he doubted they'd know anything anyway. A lead weight settled in his stomach just at the thought of Downstairs finding out that Aziraphale was pregnant. 

Unholy fuck, just thinking about that, Aziraphale, pregnant, with  _ his _ child; oh it still made him dizzy. 

Growling in frustration, he stalked into his plant room, taking a bit of comfort in the way they trembled just by him entering the room.  _ And well they should, _ he thought to himself with a sharp nod. Mister in hand, he set about with his daily routine, muttering as he went along.

"There has to be something somewhere that would be helpful right now." He spritzed an ivy aggressively, scowling down at it. "Should march right over to the bookshop and drag him back here, s'what I should do. Make him stay here so I can keep an eye on him for a while."

The plants, while providing no verbal agreement, seemed to shake a bit more. Hard to tell with plants, though, if it was a shake of fear, or an affirmative shake. If they knew what was good for them, it'd very much be both. 

“Gahhh, can’t do that though,” groaned Crowley, head tilted back glaring glarefully up at the ceiling and, by default, the God who thought she was just  _ so. Damn. Funny. _ “Aziraphale’d have my head if I dragged him back here and made him stay. He’d never be comfortable here. He needs to be somewhere comfortable. Be better off staying at the bookshop then, wouldn’t he? Don’t think he’d like me hanging around all the time, though. Been a bit moody last few days.”

Aggravated that his thoughts just keep circling back through the same game of Catch-22 it had been for the last two days, Crowley tossed the plant mister back in the general direction of the side table it usually sat on and sulked into his bedroom. If he stood very still, and concentrated very hard, he could still pick up on the faint lingering hints of fresh spring rain and buttercream frosting. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to calm him and set his desire to have the Omega near him at all times for the foreseeable future into motion. 

A quick look around his room made his mind up for him. He was going crazy being away from Aziraphale, not knowing if he was truly safe in his shop or not, not being there to be able to take care of him. No, no Crowley couldn’t stay in his flat another minute. He was going to stay at the bookshop with his angel and that was that. Whether Aziraphale liked it or not, that was how it was going to be. 

~*~*~

Throughout history artists had always depicted Heaven as being this beautiful vista of clouds and angels lounging around in white robes, playing harps, and generally looking cute and chubby. Pravuil  _ hated _ those paintings. They’d seen a few of them, the Almighty enjoyed fine art and sent them down a few times to acquire prints of the masters every so often. Those things were so far from being accurate, it nearly physically hurt them. Oh sure, once upon a time that’s how things looked, at least for a little while, but it really didn’t take long for them to progress into buildings and courtyards, promenades and areas for the armies of angels to practice their drills. And the robes, oh blessed everything, Pravuil was so glad those had finally gone out of fashion. 

Then again, wearing the equivalence of pyjama pants and vest with a lovely sea foam green dressing gown over top wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of fashion, either. Then again,  _ again _ , Pravuil was too old, too bitter, too cranky, and too fed up to have any fucks left to give about much of anything, least of all what they wore around the other angels. 

Besides, it was kind of fun watching them cringe away when they strolled by, a cup of black coffee in one hand, their silver hair pulled up into a messy ponytail. 

None of the others had the right to judge them anymore. None of them. The angels they’d once called friends had all just stood by and said nothing as Gabriel utched and nudged them right out of their beloved archives. A complicated system of historical records dated all the way back to before there even  _ were _ dates! Pravuil had spent eons of their existence writing and filing and collecting. Just to have bloody Gabriel come and take it all away from them. 

Not casting anyone so much as a passing glance, they marched up the front steps of the  _ Angelic Affairs and Documentation Archives _ building, their fluffy brown Bullwinkle Moose slippers making soft  _ thump thump thump _ sounds along the way. The doors slid open with no more than a whisper and they had to pause to blink for a second under the harsh glaring light that shone down from above. 

That was definitely a new installment. No doubt one of Gabriel’s oh so  _ fantastic _ upgrades.

The tosser. 

“Excuse me. Uhm, ex-ex _ cuse me _ ! You need to check in!” 

Pravuil drew up short. Since when did they need to  _ check in _ before heading back to their archive? Slowly they turned, cup of coffee brought up to their mouth and one brow skillfully arched. A small, flighty angel scurried out from behind a massive desk. She almost resembled a skittish mouse, Pravuil considered being nice to her. 

“You can’t just walk in here, and...is that  _ coffee _ ? Oh, no no, no gross matter allowed beyond the lobby. I’m afraid you’re going to have to toss it out.” 

Well. Being nice to her was only a consideration. With a loud, long slurp Pravuil just continued to stare the little angel down, taking a small bit of enjoyment out of the way she shifted from foot to foot. When they did finally pull the cup away from their mouth, they continued to stare the smaller angel down with the best droll stare they could muster. 

“Little one,” Pravuil started, “I believe you’ll find I can do as I please. This is my archive. I curated it. Everything from the start of time up to 1600 was done by me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go back into  _ my _ archive. And if Gabriel doesn’t like it, because I’m sure he’s who you’ll be calling soon as I turn my back, tell him I said he can go  _ piss _ up every damn mountain he climbs.”

Content to know that they had effectively made their point clear and no doubt will have caused Gabriel to see red, Pravuil gave a small nod and coy smirk, took another loud slurp of their coffee, and turned off down the hall again. Slippers shuffling across the highly polished floors, moose antlers bobbing with each step. They weren’t going to have much time before Zekael and Gabriel were upon them, but hopefully it’d be enough to gather up the information Aziraphale had asked for. 

~*~*~

The bookshop was silent save for the old grandfather clock in the corner quietly counting off the seconds and minutes and eventually the hours that had gone by. Aziraphale hadn’t been anywhere in sight when Crowley had arrived, which would have scared him shitless if it weren’t for the faint tug he felt pulling him towards the back staircase. The last time he’d gone up those stairs when he couldn’t find his angel, it changed his entire life. Changed both of their lives, really. Unlike last time though, the door opened easily for him and let him pass into the small flat without any qualms. 

Fresh rain, moonlit nights, buttercream, spiced cider…

Their combined scents covered everything like a thick, warm blanket that made Crowley want to curl up under for the rest of eternity. It was everywhere around him, intoxicating in the best possible ways; better than the finest wine by a long shot. Had he been a cartoon character he would have undoubtedly floated through the flat, picked up and carried by the beckoning trail of that beautiful scent with the biggest, dopiest grin on his face. Thank  _ someone _ he wasn’t and instead moved of his own free will until he found his angel curled up in the corner of the sofa, surrounded by blankets and pillows, just the tufts of his white-blond curls sticking out from the top of...was that  _ his _ blanket? He’d wondered where it had gone off to. 

Crowley stood at the corner of the sofa for a moment, just staring down at the vaguely Aziraphale-shaped lump, and didn’t bother trying to stop the fond smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Things really had changed for them. Aziraphale never used to sleep, let alone sleep in his flat. Yet there he was, making the most adorable snuffling noises. For a moment Crowley thought about picking him up and carrying him into his room where he’d no doubt be more comfortable and able to stretch out. That risked waking him, though, and demon though he may be, Crowley didn’t have the heart to wake a sleeping angel. Especially not one dealing with so many changes happening to them. 

Instead he gently combed his fingers through soft curls, placed a light kiss a top Aziraphale’s head, and moved to clean the flat up while he waited. Surprisingly, unlike the shop downstairs, the flat was mostly kept straight. Probably due to the fact there wasn’t actually much kept in there, but still. Crowley busied himself with doing up the few dishes that sat in the sink (by hand because it kept his nervous energy under control and because, well, he was pretty sure Aziraphale had never even  _ heard _ of a dishwasher before), gathered up the cups of tea that hadn’t been touched, the cocoa that had just the barest traces left in the bottom, and the six tall glasses of water -- all with varying levels of liquid left inside. There were a couple plates sitting on the counter with, what looked like, just the crusts from sandwiches left behind. 

The main area of the flat seen to, Crowley moved to the bedroom where, with one click of his fingers, the stuffy old bedding was replaced with Crowley’s own shadow and wine colored silk sheets, complete with a warm, thick, black duvet. Seeing Aziraphale had stolen Crowley’s other blanket, it only made sense that perhaps he’d like to have more bedding that smelled of Crowley. The thought that Aziraphale could actually want that sent his heart soaring to the stars above. He tried not to think too hard about it, though; after all, it could have just been that Aziraphale liked the softness of the blanket, the gentle weight and warmth of it. It would make a nice addition to their -- his --  _ the _ nest.  _ No, not a nest. Don’t think like that you damned demon.  _

Except, no matter how much Crowley told himself there was no nest, there definitely was a rather decent start to one he just chose to ignore. 

~*~*~

_ To take a Mate and have that union bear fruit is to be the highest honor bestowed upon all things. As declared by God the Almighty, an Alpha shall look after their Mate and let no harm fall upon them while Creation is at hand. A joining of one's existence with that of their Mates transcends all things; for where one goes the other is to follow, should one fall, the other rises them up.  _

Pravuil stared at the scroll, a tightness twisting in their chest. Oh how they missed writing. They could have perhaps dealt with losing their archive better had their ability to write not been stripped from them, too. Setting that scroll aside, they moved to pick up another. 

_ An Alpha that wishes to bind themselves to their Mate shall have the blessing of God the Almighty at their side. They shall know happiness and love in all things. Their union fruitful. And when the time comes for one to return to God the Almighty, then too shall their Mate. Exception to this being when Creation is at hand. Only once Creation is complete shall the Omega follow their Bonded Mate back to the arms of God the Almighty.  _

There were so many records regarding Matings and Bondings. It had been the way of things for longer than anyone else could remember, after all. So many births and true angelic deaths inscribed on those hallowed scrolls and tomes. Right down to the very last Alpha to fall from Grace. Pravuil thought they could remember that one. Yes, yes they could. The look of despair in honeyed eyes. Gideon. That had been their name. They’d been a student under Raphael, learning to be a healer. The poor angel had only just been designated an Alpha. 

Shaking their head, Pravuil reached for another thick volume. There was only one entry written inside. The last to be written about the joining of Alphas and Omegas. 

_ Creation shall be at the hands of God the Almighty. Until the Alpha rises and the Omega falls to meet on middle ground, their union bearing neither angel nor devil, the two shall never meet again. For this is the ruling, the WORD, and the command of God the Almighty. _

That one had never made much sense to Pravuil, but then, they supposed the decries of the Lord didn’t have to make sense to anyone but the Lord Herself. With that last book added to the pile, Pravuil moved to gather them up as carefully as possible. They needed to find a spot where they wouldn’t be disturbed in order to send the information down to Aziraphale. They weren’t sure just how helpful any of it would be to him, but a promise to help an old friend -- the only one they potentially had left -- was a promise. 

Last book balanced carefully on their arm, they turned and froze. 

Gabriel stood at the door, blocking the only exit with his wide shoulders and even bigger ego. Behind him stood Zekael, looking prim and smug and far too smarmy for her own good. Pravuil figured the two arch-wankers would come to find them. 

For a long moment no one moved, no one so much as blinked, until Gabriel finally gave a terrible imitation of a disappointed frown and sighed with a tsk. 

“Prav,” he started, shaking his head but never moving from his place at the door, “you know you’re not allowed to be back this far in the archives without Zekael or myself.” 

“Thought I told that cherub to tell you to piss up every mountain you are so keen to climb?”

“Ah. Yes. Yes, Joiphael relayed that message to me. I must say,” Gabriel huffed a fake laugh, “I was rather taken aback to hear those words coming from such a sweet little angel. Of course, then I remembered this was  _ you _ she was speaking about. It’s good to see you’re still just as charming as ever.”

“Doing some light reading, are you?” asked Zekael as she slid past Gabriel and moved further into the room. 

Pravuil did their best to keep the books tucked tight against their chest. “Just collecting what’s mine.” 

In a move faster than Pravuil could follow, Gabriel was on them, yanking the top book away from them and cracking it open. One eyebrow arched over those eerie violet eyes. 

“Now, now Pravuil. These belong to the archive, which means they belong to  _ all _ of us. Let’s see what was so important you went against the rules to come in and try to steal from the archives for, shall we?” Gabriel stared down at the text for a long, agonizingly silent moment. A rush of emotions seemed to cross his face before the book snapped shut and that oily grin slid back into place. “Your work on Alphas, Omegas and Mating? Not exactly a well received topic these days, hm?”

Pravuil gave a weak imitation of that same oily smile right back at him. “Maybe not. Why should you care then if I take them back?”

This time it was Zekael that answered with, “Why the sudden interest in such an archaic subject?”

“Research. Good to remember our past. Or have you forgotten what this archive was created for already?”

The Archangel and Seraphim shared a glance before bursting out into laughter. Pravuil drew themself up to their full height, shoulders squared and jaw set tight. They knew why the other two were laughing. After all, it’d been under Gabriel’s orders that Pravuil’s writing hand be removed when they were forcibly expelled from the archives. In their entire existence, that had been the only time they ever questioned where their God was and why she was allowing this to happen to them. Since that day, they’d had a rather strained relationship with the idea that God the Almighty still presided over all things. It seemed more like Gabriel had decided  _ he _ presided over all things.

“Oh Pravuil. Your days of research have long passed.” Gabriel’s tone flirted with being light and friendly, but its cold underlying venom was plainly obvious to those who knew what to listen for. 

Pravuil felt their stomach drop and a wave of fear suddenly wash over them as all their research, everything they had promised to get down to Aziraphale, was yanked from their arm and destroyed before their eyes. All of that information, all that history, everything God had said about Alphas and Omegas, gone. Just...gone. Up in smoke. Nothing more than a pile of ash. It was like staring at the charred remains of the library at Alexandria all over again. Those were things they’d never get back, could never replicate. 

A raw fury rose up in them, their one good hand clenching into a fist at their side. 

“ _ You _ ,” they snarled, “how  _ dare  _ you destroy my works! Is it not enough you took my hand?! My purpose?! How dare you--”

“No, Pravuil, I think how dare  _ you _ .” Gabriel cut them off with nothing more than a measured sentence. When he lifted his eyes to bore straight into Pravuil’s, there was a menace hidden there. Something buried under a hatred very unbecoming of an angel of such high standing, and when he spoke again the tone was shocked and disappointed. “How dare you break into the archive and  _ destroy _ official angelic documents like this? That...cannot be forgiven. We forgave you for losing that settlement of colonists in 1587, but this is a far greater transgression, and I’m afraid your punishment is going to have to be severe.”

With a single click of his fingers two more Seraphims appeared between Pravuil and the exit. Their stoic features gave Pravuil all the indication they needed to know what was about to happen to them. 

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Pravuil?”

One last surge of resentment boiled to the surface as Pravuil turned their glare back to Gabriel. “Yeah,” they growled, “I hope Satan has a cell lined up for you, because you’re going to burn for all the things you’ve done.”

Fire flashed in Gabriel’s eyes before he motioned for the Seraphims to take Pravuil away. The last thing they saw before being banished into eternal darkness was Gabriel rereading that last entry, the only one completely intact still. 

A cruel sneer lifted the corner of the Archangel's lip as he crushed the entry in the palm of his hand. 

“I think it’s time to pay a visit to our dear old friend, Aziraphale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not overly happy with how this chapter turned out, but I felt like if I kept picking at it, it'd never get posted. 
> 
> ...also I have no idea how Pravuil ended up resembling the Big Lebowski, they just did. They are the Angel Dude, I guess. Which makes me sad that I couldn't incorporate them more into the fic. They were fun to write lol! 
> 
> Fellow history nerds will know what settlement Pravuil lost in 1587, but in case you aren't a history nerd, Gabriel is referring to the Lost Colony of Roanoke here in North America. It's an interesting and curious tale if anyone cares to delve into it. *Cue Ryan Bergara voiceover* And for now the mystery remains....unsolved.


	6. Chapter 6

Crowley laid sprawled across the sofa in Aziraphale's shop, absently fiddling with his phone while Aziraphale continued to sleep upstairs. Despite the clutter and mess, he felt more comfortable in the shop than he did in the foreign strangeness of the flat above him, and while he'd taken the time to tidy up the flat, he knew better than to touch any of Aziraphale's carefully disordered-organization. Besides, the organized chaos that surrounded him was familiar and felt like home. 

_ Home _ . The exact thing that had been on his mind for the last few days. Crowley knew his flat would never be comfortable enough for Aziraphale. It was hardly comfortable for himself, honestly. Yet, there was only one bedroom in the flat above the shop, so where exactly was Aziraphale  planning to raise this baby? Where were  _ they  _ going to raise it? 

A new tab opened in his browser and before he could think better of it, he was going through a long list of potentials. Money wasn't something he was overly concerned about. It'd never been a problem in the past, plus, he'd even made some of his money in a nearly honest way. And if the things he invested in just happened to do slightly better in the stock market after his initial investment, well, that's capitalism for you. Money aside, it was down to a matter of  _ where _ to live. 

Crowley had just clicked on what could only be described as a sprawling estate (lots of land and outbuildings, a tennis court, indoor pool, 6 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms, 4 reception rooms...and a partridge in a pear tree) when he felt that familiar angelic fizzle of energy run down his spine. Figuring Aziraphale must have been awake, Crowley put his phone to sleep and rolled himself into a more upright position. That was when it hit him. The fizzle of energy was dampened, like it had come from outside the building, outside the wards he had carefully constructed to keep any pests from just popping in on them. It apparently worked. 

Jingling of the door trying to be opened filled the air. Whoever it was, they weren't getting in without a fight, and if that meant fighting dirty, then so be it. They'd see just how brave an angel truly was when faced with a snake whose head alone was nearly as big as them. Crowley stepped out of the protective shadows where he'd been standing and glared harshly at the door. His mouth turned into a sneer, a low hiss slipped past his teeth. With a click of his fingers, the doors opened, leaving him to stand in the middle of a recently restored bookshop, staring down the "Archangel fucking Gabriel". 

"Well, if it isn’t Judge, Jury, and Executioner himself," Crowley sneered. "Here to finish the job are you?"

If Gabriel was surprised to see Crowley standing there, he did a very good job of not showing it. With one of his patented smarmy smiles, he raised his hands in surrender. 

"Ah yes, the demon...Cowwly, was it?"

" _ Crow _ ley,"

Gabriel tilted his head back and gave a brief nod. "Right. Well, close enough. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to find you here. Further defiling an angel of the Lord, I assume?"

While Crowley wanted nothing more than to fire comments of his own back at him, to goad the Archangel into a fight, knowing that Aziraphale was upstairs sleeping kept him from giving in to his own temptation. Nor would he rise to the bait Gabriel was dangling out to rile him up. His arms folded over his chest and eyes peeking out over the top of his sunglasses, knowing full well that they had gone completely serpentine, Crowley leaned back to put weight on one foot, body coiled and ready to spring if need be. 

"What do you want?" He growled. 

"Well I heard Aziraphale was feeling poorly, I know his heat is coming up soon and it's always been such a difficult time for him, so I just thought--"

"You're four months late and he was fine. Anymore lies you wanna tell, oh Archangel of the Lord?" Crowley couldn't keep the sarcasm from dripping off his words by the time he was finished talking. It was almost gratifying to watch Gabriel's jaw snap shut, his eyes go dark and cold. 

"I take it you saw him through it, then?" The Archangel's voice had taken on that same edge Crowley remembered it being when he'd swapped bodies with Aziraphale. 

Crowley, for his part, didn't say a word. Didn't flinch. He stood there with one eyebrow raised and the air of a demon close to having his patience broken. Something was tugging at the back of his mind, something telling him to just run. Go grab Aziraphale and run as far and as fast as he could and don’t look back. Whatever Gabriel’s reason for making an unexpected and uninvited house call, it sure as well couldn’t be good. 

“I’m only going to ask one more time,” threatened Crowley, “what do you want?”

Electricity sizzled around the bookshop entrance, Gabriel’s ethereal glow brightening around him as he spoke. “You had your fun helping to stop the end of the world, demon. The time for playing is through. Release Aziraphale from your hold, let me take him back to Heaven where we can care for him properly during this trying time.”

“Not a chance. ‘Fraid you wasted a trip down here.”

There before his eyes Gabriel slowly grew in size, four smaller wings appearing beneath his massive primaries. Not quite his true form -- at least, as far as Crowley could remember anyway -- but not quite human-shaped either. The bastard probably hadn’t even shielded himself from the humans seeing him transform. Then again, Crowley hadn’t heard any screaming from the street yet. 

“You didn’t Bond with him, so what do you care? You’re a demon. You sensed his heat and took advantage of him, didn’t you? Without a bond, whatever bastardized being you put in him can still be removed without harming Aziraphale.”

Crowley felt his own demonic powers start to surge as his anger grew. And the more Gabriel talked, the more it grew, the more his powers surged inside him. Violence wasn’t something he was exactly keen on, in fact he tried to avoid it as much as possible, but for Gabriel, he was willing to make an exception. 

“Ssssssssssod  _ off _ …”

“She’s never going to allow it to live! Half angel, half demon? It’d be an abomination! Release the hold you have on him, foul serpent of Hell! You won’t corrupt--”

White light exploded around Crowley in a blinding flash that knocked him clear off his feet. His mind raced in a desperate attempt to figure out what had happened. The only thing he could come up with? He’d been shot! Gabriel managed to get an angelic blast through the ward somehow and shot him! This was it! He was done for, and he never got to tell Aziraphale anything.

Thunder crashed directly above the bookshop, the wooden door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the glass in all the windows. The distinct scent of ozone filled the air and it was only then Crowley realized he was lying on his back staring straight up through the oculus and the only pain he felt was in his tailbone from when he landed. A deafening silence fell over the shop, thick and oppressive and sparking with leftover holy power. It took a moment for Crowley to get his bearings, and to get the obnoxious jolts of...of.. _ something _ that arched from his tailbone to his chest and made him want to either cough, gag, or gasp for air, under control enough that he could sit up and look around. 

Everything was as it should be. Nothing was out of place. The sun was still shining brightly outside, Aziraphale still on the stairs looking pale…

...wait a minute...

“ _ Aziraphale _ !” 

Crowley leapt to his feet and forced his body to behave as he ran for the stairs. He slid his arm around Aziraphale’s waist just as the angel’s knees began to buckle under him. 

“Easy, I’ve got you.” As gently as he could, Crowley led Aziraphale down the last few steps and over to the sofa he’d been sprawled out on. “What did you  _ do _ ?”

Dazed blue eyes looked up at him and it was only then that Crowley noticed just how pale Aziraphale had gotten and the subtle sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. 

“I...I’m not...sure, really. I…”

“Aziraphale? Did you just  _ smite _ an archangel?” Asked Crowley, barely able to contain the laughter and pride he felt building in his chest. Oh if he weren’t already hopelessly in love with that ridiculous little angel... 

“He was being  _ terribly _ rude!” Objected Aziraphale. “And I...he...I…”

Before the thought could be completed, Aziraphale’s eyes seemed to roll back at the same time his body slumped forward into Crowley’s arms. Not that Crowley could complain about having Aziraphale in his arms, but, well, not exactly the way he’d hoped. He sighed as he carefully maneuvered the angel on the couch to lay him down, a pillow and blanket (both belonged to Crowley) appearing out of thin air to keep Aziraphale comfortable until he woke up again. 

Right. Well. That settled things then, didn’t it? Aziraphale obviously wouldn’t be able to protect himself if he were alone, not in the state he was in, which meant it was Crowley’s job to stay by his side and keep him out of trouble. That did raise another concern, though. Heaven knew about the baby. Crowley couldn’t fathom how they’d found out about it, but they did. Which meant it was only a matter of time before Hell was on their heels, too. He had to think of a way to keep them safe and out of their former sides' clutches. 

Which, as they say, was easier said than done.

~*~*~

“Aziraphale?”

“Mm.”

“C’mon, Aziraphale. Time to get up.”

“Hmph.”

“Alright, I’ll carry you then. But don’t blame me when you wake up in the car.”

Somewhere through the haze of sleep, Aziraphale became distantly aware of being lifted up off the comfortable spot he’d been curled up on, and held against a warm, solid mass. The gentle sway of being carried, though he didn’t know where to. When he was set down again, he thought he felt a safety belt snap into place over him, but the sensation faded once the blanket he’d been snuggled into was tucked in around his body once more and he was slowly lulled back to sleep.

~*~*~

When Aziraphale finally did wake up, and was awake enough to know what was happening around him, he was surprised to find he truly  _ was _ in a car. He was in a car, it was dark out, the radio was playing and it most definitely wasn't the bebop Crowley usually blasted in the Bentley. Which was odd since, hadn't Crowley told him once any music left in the Bentley for a fortnight turned into The Best of Queen? 

Then again, now that he  _ was  _ awake, he came to the startling realization that he wasn't, in fact,  _ in _ the Bentley. Fear suddenly gripped him as the memories from earlier slotted back into place. Gabriel in the doorway to his shop, dangerously close to revealing his true form. Crowley in the middle of the room, stationed between Gabriel and the stairs that led up to the flat, radiating with so much anger, such an air of an Alpha protecting his mate. Then, oh, all of those horrible things Gabriel had been saying! And how in the world had he found out about the baby? Next thing Aziraphale remembered was expending far more energy than he probably should have just to get Gabriel to leave them alone.

After that, well...after that Aziraphale wasn't quite sure what had happened.

He stirred in his seat a bit and looked up just in time to see a road sign go by. Calais. 

"Crowley?" He croaked, throat dry for disuse. Goodness how long had he been asleep? "Did we just pass a sign for Calais?"

Beside him, Crowley flinched but kept his eyes on the road. Which was a bit odd given his propensity for driving like the devil and not always keeping his eyes forward. What was more odd though was the death grip he seemed to have on the wheel and the fact it appeared he was actually following the posted speed limits. 

"Eh? Uhhh...did we? Dunno. Could have?"

" _ Could  _ have?” Aziraphale parroted back. By this time he’d forced himself to sit up completely in his seat, wiggling carefully in order to get comfortable, one hand resting on his stomach. “Crowley, where are we going?"

A string of stammered not-words and a shrug that wasn't quite as casual as it could have been was the only answer Crowley gave.

“I’ve had quite enough of this. I demand to know what’s going on, why we’re in France, and  _ where _ is your infernal Bentley? I’ve had a rather trying day and am really in no mood for--”

“Crepes!”

The sudden outburst had Aziraphale stopping short. What in the world…

“Crepes? What are you on about, now?”

Crowley stole a glance in Aziraphale’s direction. Or at least, he turned his head slightly that way, so Aziraphale could only assume Crowley had glanced at him. It was hard to tell in the dark. Not to mention with the sunglasses still firmly in place. 

“They’re why we’re in France.” When Aziraphale didn’t respond to that, because really, how was he supposed to respond to something like that, Crowley hurried to continue talking. “Thought it’d be a nice surprise, you know. Treat you to a little holiday, road trip across the continent, get you those crepes from Paris you nearly lost your head over. Maybe we could head down to Rome while we’re at it. Don’t think Petronisss’ place is still there, but, eh, nah, you never know? Visit what’ss left of Pompeii. Hit up every chocolaterie from Belgium to Sssswitzerland? Whatever you wanna do, Angel. Anything at all.” 

Aziraphale felt a little bit like a fish out of water. That subtle hiss that Crowley always worked so hard to hide away had come back, the way it always did when he was anxious or upset. There was something that the wily old serpent wasn’t saying, something he was keeping from Aziraphale. He wasn’t lying about anything, not that Aziraphale could tell anyway, he just seemed to be withholding information. 

“My dear,” he said softly, reaching out across the space between them to lay his hand gently on Crowley’s left arm. “Please tell me what’s going on? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“There’s not. Neh, no. No there isn’t. Told you. Crepes. Nice little holiday.”

Through the many centuries that Aziraphale had been on earth, and the oh so many years he'd known Crowley through those centuries, he'd learned to choose his battles wisely. Particularly when it came to his demonic counterpart. It hadn't been an easy year for them, well, rather the last nearly 15 years hadn't been easy for them, and Aziraphale especially still had a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that now it was okay to openly admit to being friends with Crowley. That, though Crowley was the Original Tempter and thus the reason why Aziraphale had failed his first duty on earth (...oh who was he kidding? Aziraphale had failed himself, but that was a different story), as far as he knew Crowley really hadn't ever lied to him about anything. In fact, between the two of them, Crowley told the truth 99% of the time while Aziraphale was more in the general area of about 40% -- depending on the situation. 

The point was, really, that Crowley had always done his absolute utmost to protect Aziraphale and keep him from harm. Even when the harm would have come from Aziraphale's own foolishness. Which brought them back to crepes and the reason why they were in France. Or rather, the  _ real _ reason they were in France. The more Aziraphale thought about it, the more he felt his entire body run cold. 

With both arms wrapped around his stomach, fidgeting nervously with the strap of his safety belt, Aziraphale turned his gaze back out the front window. He didn’t want to ask; he wasn’t sure he was going to like the answer, but he had to know. "Crowley? Did I smite Gabriel?" 

That did get a look over, though not an immediate answer. Almost as if Crowley was trying to decide  _ how _ to answer him. 

"Uhhhh...dunno, really. I was a little busy being blind and thrown 12 feet when it happened. Could have done though, yeah." He gave another small shrug and turned his attention back to the road. "Sounds 'bout right."

Aziraphale groaned softly. That was what he had been afraid Crowley would say, and it was  _ not  _ a good thing. Having Gabriel upset with you ranked a solid 2 on the scale of worst things that could possibly happen to him (number 1 for centuries now was to lose Crowley). 

"He's going to be very cross, you know. Once he gets another corporation issued to him."

"Yeah, but he's gotta get one first. Hadriel still the Quartermaster up there?"

A shudder ran down Aziraphale's body. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Eh then we should be fine for a few decades at least. He doesn't take kindly to handing out bodies." Crowley answered. His voice was light but Aziraphale could hear the doubt hidden within the words. The unspoken  _ I hope, please let me be right about this _ .

Aziraphale, sadly, did not hold that much hope in Hadriel delaying Gabriel's request for a new body. 

"He also knows better than to make Gabriel wait, though" he answered in a small, quiet voice. 

Crowley glanced back to Aziraphale for a moment before looking back at the road. He readjusted his white-knuckle hold on the steering wheel and seemed to tense up all the more. He didn't answer, probably because he knew Aziraphale was right. Hadriel was strict and stern and very militant in nature, but even he had to answer to someone and with God not speaking to any of them anymore, that someone more than likely became Gabriel. 

"Get some more rest, Angel," Crowley finally murmured. "I'll wake you when we get to Paris."

"I don't sle-" a yawn interrupted the word, "sleep. Oh not a word from you, demon. Just drive the car."

With a pout directed towards Crowley's chuckling and smirking, Aziraphale turned in his seat enough to have his back mostly to Crowley, head resting on the back of the seat, and yanked the blanket over his face again.  _ Silly serpent. Ridiculous, wonderfully frustrating tempter.  _


	7. Chapter 7

Gabriel stood in the Office of Corporation Acquisitions and Supplies, slack-jawed at what had just happened to him. First, that damned demon (an annoying little voice that sounded suspiciously like Michael quipped in his head with,  _ Well of course he's damned. What other kind of demon was there?  _ ...Gabriel really disliked that little voice) was there in the shop just as comfortable as could be, and even dared to try and  _ threaten  _ him! Which would have been funny if Gabriel weren't currently trying to wrap his head around what had happened. Imagine. A lowly  _ demon _ , not even a  _ Duke _ of Hell but a common  _ demon _ , threatening him? It was ridiculous. 

Not as ridiculous, though, as the thought that timid little Aziraphale, fussy, prissy,  _ infuriating  _ Aziraphale, had discorporated him! The little twerp had actually used his angelic powers against one of his own and  _ smited him! _ As far as Gabriel could recall, that was the first time Aziraphale had ever smote anything! 

The one brightside, if you wanted to call it that, was that none of the other Archangels saw him appear without a body. Of course, for every brightside there must be some darkness, and right at the moment that darkness was Hadriel, storming towards him with an honest to...well...with an  _ actual _ riding crop tucked under his arm like he was some general in a bad WWII movie. Gabriel stood his ground -- mainly because where else was he supposed to go and also because, and he would deny it under oath, he was beyond terrified of the Quartermaster. Those obscure sideburns alone were unsettling enough, but it was the manic look in the angel's eyes that had him frozen in place. 

"Where is your body?" Demanded Hadriel. "You were issued a body, Satandammit!"

"Don't take that high and mighty tone with me. I'm the Archangel Gabriel and--"

"And I don't give two demon tails  _ who _ you are! You've appeared in  _ my _ office, without a  _ body _ , and I demand to know where it is and why."

For a moment, Gabriel stood stock still, absolutely dumbfounded. No one ever spoke that way to him, they knew better. He was in charge and everyone knew it. After all, the Almighty hadn't exactly spoken to any of them since, well, since her Son came home, and no one else really seemed up to the responsibility of keeping the angelic order in, er,  _ order _ , so who else was there if not him? He shuddered to think how things would have gone if Michael or Uriel or, Saints preserve him,  _ Sandalphon _ had taken over. 

He narrowed his eyes to glare back at Hadriel for a moment and squared his shoulders to make himself more intimidating. Jaw set and chin raised, Gabriel folded his arms over his chest. "I was attacked, unprovoked, by a rogue angel and his," the words felt like ash on his tongue as he sneered, " _ demon _ lover. Now  _ I demand _ a new body so that I might take the other Archangels down and make them suffer their retributions."

Hadriel, for his part, looked anything but impressed. "You were taken out by that pathetic excuse for an angel?" He asked, almost sounding amused. "If he discorporated you once, who's to say he wouldn't do it again?"

"Because for one thing," grumbled Gabriel, "the amount of energy it takes to discorporate an Archangel is no doubt a danger to his and the demon's offspring he is currently carrying. And for another…" Gabriel let his arms drop back down to his sides as he leaned in closer to the Quartermaster angel, leveling his eyes with the cold, empty blues of Hadriel. "I don't intend to give them the chance to even know I'm coming."

That made Hadriel pause. "A strategic ambush?" He asked. 

Gabriel gave his best shark-like grin as he nodded slowly. "That's right. Kill the demon, bring the angel and child back to Heaven. If that...that...whatever his name was, Adam Young or whatever, if he refused to bring about Armageddon, the child of an angel and demon surely would."

Hadriel froze in place, eyes wide with shock. He almost seemed speechless for a moment there, until he shook his head and blinked. The stone cold stern scowl etched back into place as he stood ramrod straight again. 

"An angel and a demon? It's unnatural." He sniffed and tilted his chin up. "No self-respecting angel would allow themselves to be Mated by a demon." 

"Oh, but that's just it." Gabriel felt what could only be described in human terms as  _ giddy _ as he spread his arms wide and grinned. "They aren't Mated. They are living a life of debauchery and sin, right this very moment. Is it not our duty to help lead our lost brothers back to the Path? To save them from the clutches of evil that try to tempt them away from the Light?" 

A contemplative look crossed over Hadriel while Gabriel talked. He paced silently in front of him for a moment before he finally stopped to give Gabriel a once over. 

"You'll have to fill out a requisition form." He snapped. "There are others ahead of you in line. Takes longer to come up with a spare Archangel corporation than it does a layman one."

That was something else Gabriel was not used to: being told he had to wait his turn. Why should he have to wait behind all the lower beings? Should he not have priority as he had the more important job? It was an outrage and he sputtered to tell Hadriel as such! The Quartermaster, however, gave him quite the look that actually had him shut up in record time. 

Hadriel leaned in towards him just a little, eyes darting to make sure no one was close enough to hear them, before whispering, "I'll have one of my people bring it to you by end of day tomorrow. That will have to be fast enough." 

Now  _ that  _ was more like it! Gabriel turned his megawatt grin on Hadriel and clapped him on the shoulders firmly. "There will be a considerable commendation coming your way for this. You have my word on that." 

~*~*~ 

Not once in over 6000 years had Crowley ever lied to Aziraphale. Which was saying quite a lot, if you really thought about it. A demon who couldn't bring himself to lie to the best angel he'd ever known? It was almost pathetic. Although...even though he might not have ever lied to his angel, he had maybe, once or twice a decade, occasionally once or twice in a few conversations, left out key elements to what he'd been saying. Really though it was all in Aziraphale's best interest not to know  _ all  _ the details. "Yes, Warlock ate all of his vegetables,"  _ it was only two little peas, anyway.  _ "No, I think that might work,"  _ more likely to get us discorporated, but, ehhhhh y'know.  _ "I lost my best friend."  _ The one good thing to ever happen to me. I don't know what to do without you, anymore. Please don't leave me. I love you.  _

Crowley shook his head and stole another glance to his left. Aziraphale had all but buried himself in Crowley's blanket and oh if that didn't do things to Crowley's heart. He wanted to believe that Aziraphale had gotten so attached to that blanket because he had feelings for him, too. That Aziraphale didn't want to be without him in any form ever again. The reality, though? It was warm and soft, slightly weighted, and felt like being wrapped up in a comforting hug. 

When Aziraphale had asked what they were doing, a nice little holiday had been the only thing Crowley's panicked mind could come up with. In truth, well, in truth Crowley had absolutely no idea where they were going, he just knew he had to drive. Get them out of London, the first place either side would look for them, and he  _ knew _ both sides would look for them. If Heaven knew Aziraphale was pregnant, then it was safe to assume that Hell wouldn't be far behind. There was no outrunning either side, he knew that, but if he could just find somewhere safe enough for them to lay low in for a little bit, get his thoughts in order and try to come up with  _ some kind  _ of plan, maybe…

He groaned frustratedly, thunking his head against the backrest a few times before just leaving it there. There was no way to win this. Not without help. Armageddon had been hard enough and that had only barely succeeded in being thwarted. 

"Alright, look. I know I'm not exactly your favorite, always asking too many questions, being rubbish at everything except asking questions, but…" Crowley trailed off, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Aziraphale. Last thing he wanted was for Aziraphale to know that Crowley did, occasionally, sometimes, when he was feeling beyond desperate, still talk to God. The bloody angel would be insufferable if he knew. 

With a deep breath to gather his courage, and one more quick glance at the angel shaped lump in the passenger seat, Crowley continued, "You gotta know how special Aziraphale is. How good and kind he is. He's the best thing you ever created. And I know I shouldn't be asking for help or favors, 'm a demon, you don't exactly like helping us out, but, Aziraphale doesn't deserve to be hunted just because I screwed up. 

"I know it's my fault. I should have left soon as I realized that he'd holed himself up cuz he was in Heat. I know that. It was selfish of me to tie with him. I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry, it's my fault we're in this mess, but please don't let anything happen to him or...or the...our...fuck...you know what I mean. Don't let anything happen to  _ them _ . Do whatever you want to me as punishment, so long as they're taken care of." He sniffed softly and sighed, letting his head drop forward again. "I...guess that's it."

Sweat trickled down into his eyes; one of the physical strains starting to manifest from using his demonic powers to keep them shielded from ethereal and occult forces that might be trying to find them. It certainly wasn't a permanent solution, but Crowley wasn't going to let it drop until they were safe. No matter how long that took. 

~*~*~

Gabriel straightened his tie as he rolled his shoulders, settling himself into his new body. It was the same model, but it still felt different. Not that it mattered, he didn't have time to fuss over the smaller details. He had to figure out how he was going to get his hands on that blasted angel and his bastard of an Alpha. 

The halls of Heaven were empty save for the few scattered office personnel wandering about, but they scurried out of the way when they saw Gabriel coming towards them. A couple of turns later and he was at the elevator. As much as it pained him to stoop to their level, in this case, quite literally, he soon found himself pressing the button for the basement. A matter such as this required a meeting face-to-face. 

Normally he would have sent Michael down, they were the one with the connections down below after all. Or at least, they were. Gabriel pretended not to know about them and Ligur, and so offered no condolences when the demon was destroyed. One less nuisance for him to have to worry about. Of course, he also could have called down and told Beelzebub to get their fly infested self Upstairs for this meeting, but then he'd have to spend the next decade trying to get the flies out of his office. No, it was better to just take a little trip down by himself and have a word with the Prince of Hell. 

The dank smell of stale water and misery smacked him across the face as the doors to the elevator opened out into the basement level. Followed very closely by the distinct Alpha posturing pheromone. Which he easily ignored because, why shouldn't he? All around him demons hissed and spit in his direction, some were even stupid enough to try and attack him. No doubt in the hopes of making him their bitch. They soon learned how very wrong they were with just a simple glare and snarl. 

Lesser demons, the ones he'd heard referred to as Disposable Demons, shrank away as he passed them. Suppose they weren't quite as stupid as they looked. 

The door to Beelzebub's office creaked loudly on its rusty hinges, squealing through the air like the lost souls that perished from the Light. Or, some such nonsense like that. Gabriel paid little attention to the door, or the spindly looking demon slouched in her metal folding chair behind a desk that was just slightly too tall for her. Gertrude, Gladys, Goldie, he didn't know what her name was and frankly didn't care. He walked by the desk like it didn't even exist and strolled right into the Prince of Hell's office as if he owned the place. 

Of all the things he'd expected to find inside the cramped room, a stereo blasting some obscene type of music was not one of them. Nor was finding the pint-sized horror bobbing their head in time with the beat, mouthing out the lyrics as they went. 

"What in the name of all creation is that noise?" 

Beelzebub's head shot up, their blue eyes wide in surprise for a moment before their general look of bored disinterest slipped back into place and they squared their shoulders. 

"It'sz Pop music. Boy bandsz. This iszz Hell, what did you expect us to listen to?" 

Gabriel tilted his head, eyebrows scrunched in thought as he listened. 

"Fair enough, but, *NSync?" He paused to make a face before continuing. "Four outta the five belong to us. Seems strange you'd--"

"And Timberlake belongszzz to uszzzz, now what do you want?"

With a subtle head shake Gabriel moved further into the office and leaned causally against the wall, fiddling with his perfectly clean and rounded fingernails. “Now, Bea,” he tsked, “is that any way to greet me?”

The glare that Beelzebub pinned Gabriel with would have sent demons running scared to cry in a corner somewhere, but it did nothing to intimidate him. If anything, it made him give a little pout before breaking into a grin. He’d always enjoyed riling Beelzebub up, it was fun occasionally. 

“Alright. I can tell you’re in one of your moods, so I’ll make this brief. I have a proposition for you. One I think you’ll find would be in both of our interests for you to accept.”

“I don’t make dealsz with angelsz,” they buzzed, eyes narrowed. 

With a slow smirk sliding along his face, Gabriel moved to circle around the desk pausing right behind Hell’s second in command. He dropped a hand down onto Beelzebub’s shoulder and moved it around to scruff the back of their neck before leaning down to murmur into their ear, “You know I’m far more than just any angel, and I think you’ve be obstinate enough for this little meeting, don’t you?”

When Beelzebub gave a reluctant nod, shoulders scrunched and head rolled to one side, Gabriel continued. 

“Good. Now then, how would you like to get revenge on Crowley and help restart Armageddon?” 

~*~*~

_ SNAP! _

_ Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump… _

Aziraphale jolted awake, eyes wide as he scanned his surroundings, half expecting to find the whole of Heaven and Hell descending upon them. Instead, he found a dark road illuminated only by the headlights of this definitely-not-the-Bentley car and a demon cursing imaginatively in English and also in several languages that had been dead for millennia. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but he had the strangest feeling they should at least be on the outskirts of Paris already, if not in the city center. A quiet, tree lined road was not exactly how he remembered Paris to look. 

Crowley tugged the steering wheel and swerved them off onto the side of the road, letting out one more curse before smacking the heel of his hand against the wheel. 

“What happened? Is everything okay?” Aziraphale asked worriedly. 

“Yeah, everything’s...gahhh...no. No, not okay. We’re bloody lost! Haven’t seen a petrol station in over two hours! Now we’ve gotten a flat tire. Okay? Nothing is okay.”

“My dear, you make it sound like it’s some great ordeal,” huffed Aziraphale as he tried to find a comfortable position to sit up in. “The Bentley doesn’t require petrol, after all. As for the flat tire, simply miracle it fixed.”

A soft grumble rumbled out of Crowley as he shook his head. “The Bentley knows better than to need petrol. This  _ bloody _ thing doesn’t!” 

There was something off in the air, something Aziraphale couldn’t quite put his finger on, but there was definitely something. The petrol issue and flat tire shouldn’t bother Crowley as much as it was. As for the being lost bit, well...alright, that one would be a tad more difficult to fix, but not impossible.

He wanted to reach out and touch Crowley, rest a reassuring hand to his arm and offer him a smile, but it was very obvious that the demon would not respond well to that. So instead, Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap, swallowed down a deep breath, and sighed. 

“Can’t you use your cellular mobile telephone to find out where we are?”

“ _ Cellphone. _ ” 

“That’s what I said.”

“No, you, ahhh, forget it. Never mind. No, I can’t use it to find out where we are.” 

“Whyever not? You’ve boasted about it to me hundreds of times about all the things you can find using it. Is it not capable of giving us our location? It’s given you directions before, I’m sure it has. I seem to remember--”

Crowley cut in with his usual string of not-words that always seemed to stutter out when he was frustrated or uncertain about something. In this case, it sounded as if it were both. Frustratedly uncertain. 

“Eh-wha-na...I just  _ can’t _ , alright? Now just...just stay put, angel. ‘M gonna see if I can do something about the tire.” 

As Crowley opened his door and slid out from behind the wheel, Aziraphale swore he heard something about so much for a prayer being answered mumbled under Crowley’s breath. The driver’s door slapped shut behind him and for a minute or two Aziraphale actually did stay in his seat. When it became obvious Crowley wasn’t just going to miracle it fixed -- which was just ridiculous -- he huffed another sigh and shifted himself out of the car. 

The boot was open and Crowley dangled half inside, half outside of it, digging around for something and muttering to himself. Aziraphale took a short walk around the car, mostly to investigate things himself, but also to stretch his legs and back a little. He’d been in basically the same position for who knew how long. When he came around to the back driver’s side tire, he frowned. It was certainly flat. 

“What in the blazes are you doing?”

Crowley jumped, his head apparently getting whacked against the inside of the boot. He ducked back into view, scowling and rubbing his head where it had been hit. 

“What are you doing outta the car? I told you to stay put.”

“I needed to stretch out a bit, now what are  _ you _ doing crawling around in there? Just click your fingers and fix it.”

“Angel, I mean it, get back in the car and let me handle this.”

“Oh, really, Crowley! You’re being needlessly stubborn! Just use a miracle so we can be on our way.”

“I said I would take care of it and I’m going to. Now go back into the car.”

Aziraphale huffed and shook his head. He took two steps back in order to put the wheel in his sight and raised his right hand. Whatever ridiculous reasons Crowley had for being decidedly stubborn about the whole thing, Aziraphale had had  _ quite _ enough, thank you very much. So if Crowley wouldn’t fix the tire the simple and practical way,  _ he _ would. 

Except, he never got the chance. Before he could call down the powers from Heaven, Crowley had him crowded against the back door. His long fingers wrapped securely around his wrist, holding it tight to the car and putting himself very much into Aziraphale’s space. 

“Don’t. You.  _ Dare _ .” He snarled, voice low and stern. “Last time you used a miracle, you were unconscious for five and a half hours.”

Any other person, or being really, would be properly terrified at having an angry demon in their face and keeping them pinned against a car. Aziraphale, however, wasn’t any other being and was in fact rather used to Crowley’s strange little tantrums, such as they were. So instead of being terrified, he simply gave a heavy put-upon sigh and shook his head. 

“One of us needs to be reasonable about this,” he snapped. “If you’re not going to do it, then I most certainly will, and I don’t believe you have any say in how I may or may not use  _ my _ miracles.”

“Oh-oh n-no say? I -- you -- that’s -- what do you mean ‘no say’?” 

A firm pressure rested flat against the small bump still hidden beneath his waistcoat. Crowley’s hand flexed against his stomach as if to make a point. 

“No say? Really? I’d say this right here gives me all the say in the world about how you’re going to use any miracles!”

Suddenly far more angry than the situation called for, Aziraphale used the hand not being held to the car to push at Crowley’s shoulder. “ _Don’t_ _touch_ me, you foul fiend! Remove your hands from me at once or...or…” Frustrated and angry and even a bit confused and scared, Aziraphale struggled to keep his voice steady as he forced it past the painful lump in his throat. “Or I...I’ll…”

“You’ll  _ what _ ?” 

It was a simple enough question; it just unfortunately did not have a simple enough answer. At least, not one that Aziraphale could come up with right then. So, instead of answering, Aziraphale felt himself lose his battle against his wildly swinging moods and simply broke down into tears. Which, as it turned out, seemed to be exactly the right answer. Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s wrist immediately, and moved his hand from off of his stomach to around his waist, only to have Aziraphale shake his head and side step out of the way before he was trapped in a hug. Or whatever else Crowley had planned to do.

“No! I...don’t you...I don’t want to be  _ touched _ ,” he sobbed. “I just...I want you to f-fix the car pr-properly and...and return us to London th-this  _ instant _ , Crowley!”

Crowley drew back as if he’d been burned, and given the pained expression that flashed across his face it was possible he had been. He didn’t make any more attempts to touch Aziraphale and instead tucked his hands into his impossibly small pockets and simply stared through the darkness at him. 

“Look, Aziraphale. Would...just get back in the car.  _ Please _ ? I said please, you know how much I hate saying  _ please _ , but if it’ll get you to go sit back down, then I’ll say it over and over and over again.  _ Please _ .”

Tears still rolled down Aziraphale’s cheeks as he shook his head. He was the one being stubborn now, he supposed. 

“Y-you...you’re n-not my Al-Al-pha,” he continued to cry, arms wrapped protectively around his stomach. “You d-don’t get to t-tell me wh-what to d-do!”

Crowley threw his arms up in frustration with a growl and spun on his heels to turn his attention back to the open boot of the car. 

“Right. Course. Stupid me.” He grumbled. “Fine, I’m not your Alpha. Be a stubborn git for all I care. Miracle yourself back to your bookshop, but if you pass out again, I will  _ not _ be there to catch you. Just remember that.”

“I-I-I- _ I’m _ a stubborn git?! You! You won’t even do a simple miracle to fix a blasted tire! How am I--” 

They both went silent and still as a pair of bright headlights rolled around a bend in the road and shone on them. Puttering, sputtering and rattling its way closer until it slowed to a stop alongside them. Instantly, Crowley was there to put himself between the battered ancient farm truck and Aziraphale. Their argument and hurt seemingly forgotten.

“Bonjour?” A sweet and kind voice called through the open window to them. “Est-ce que tout va bien? As tu besoin d'aide?”

“Oh dear. M-Maybe you’d better let me handle this. I do happen to know French after all.” Whispered Aziraphale, only slightly still hiccupping from his tears and sniffling. 

“You don’t know French! You nearly got  _ beheaded _ because of your lack of...of...knowing...French. No, I’ll deal with them.”

“No, Crowley, I don’t think--”

Crowley wasn’t listening though. He’d already taken a step forward, putting Aziraphale fully behind him. 

“Oui, salut, tu parles anglais?” He asked in slightly better French than Aziraphale, admittedly, probably would have done.

A soft giggle floated out of the truck. 

“Oui. Yes, I do. Though, not as well as I should like. Do you need help?” They answered in broken English. 

“Ahhh...nahhhh...we’re--”

“Yes, actually, we do!” Aziraphale piped up as he stepped out from behind Crowley and up to the truck. A girl not much more than twenty sat behind the wheel, smiling kindly at them both. “Our car has a bit of a flat tire, you see, and I’m afraid we’re a bit lost and in need of petrol, as well. If you could perhaps tell us how far the nearest service station is, we would be so very appreciative.” 

“Oh...I am sorry, but you are still quite far from a station, and I am afraid it is closed.” 

Aziraphale’s soft smile faltered at that. Well, so much for that idea, then. He looked back up at the young woman and offered her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and nodded. 

“Ah. Yes. Well. Thank you then--”

“You and your mate will come to my home, no? It is very late, there is not much that can be done tonight. In the morning everything will be fixed.”

Crowley and Aziraphale quickly began speaking over each other. 

“Oh, no my dear--”

“Yeah, sorry, that’s just not--”

“I’m afraid we couldn’t impose on you--”

“Don’t even bloody well know who you are--”

“And it would be terribly impolite for us to--”

“Could just be a ploy to do us in--”

“You’re ever so kind, really--”

“Not going to happen--”

“Thank you, but--”

“Not a chance.” Said Crowley with a firm resolve, arms folded over his chest. 

From within the truck, the young woman smiled brightly as she laughed over them. She shook her head and extended one hand out the window in greeting. “I am Magdelie LaBeau. You may call me Maggie, if you would like, and there is room in my home for two weary travelers. Warm food and soft bed. Now, come. I am expected home soon.” 

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley. The demon was standing stock still with his arms folded in front of him. He wanted to say something, suggest that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to accept some help from such a kind young lady, but he didn’t. Their argument was still too fresh in his mind, and while it wasn’t exactly miracling himself back to his bookshop, it would be going somewhere warm and comfortable for at least the night. Mind made up, he gave a curt nod before looking back to Maggie. 

“Well, if you’re sure it’s no trouble…”

Maggie smiled and shook her head. “It is no trouble at all.”

“Then...yes, thank you. That does sound rather lovely.”

Beside him, Crowley sputtered in protest, but Aziraphale pretended he didn’t hear him. 

“I am Aziraphale, and this is my companion, Anthony.”

“ _ Companion _ ?!” Cried Crowley. 

With another smile and concealed giggle, Maggie nodded her head towards the passenger door. 

“It is nice to meet you Aziraphale and Anthony. Please, climb in. We are not far from my home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of notes...  
> 1) I was a pre-teen/teenager during the height of the Boy Band invasion and let me tell you, I freaking _adored_ them all. I have a playlist on my Pandora that I listen to at work that is basically nothing but Backstreet Boys, *NSync, BBMac, Five, Westlife etc. So please do not think I consider boy band music to be Hell. I merely used them because I know my _mom_ thought she was in Hell because of them. Also, I'm sorry to any Justin Timberlake fans out there, but I have _neeeeeever_ liked him. At all. In any way. So yeah, I'm giving him over to Hell. 
> 
> 2) I don't speak French. Not even a little bit. I totally used Google Translate and I'm sure it shows. And since I don't speak it, I have no idea how a native French speaker would sound speaking English except for what I've seen on TV and in movies. I'm so very sorry if I've stereotyped Maggie because of this. If I have any native speaking readers who would like to correct me on any of that, please don't be shy, let me know!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. So. Sorry this chapter took so long. I've been having a rough go of things lately that has been dragging me down and crippling my creativity and inspiration. We're not going to talk about how many hours I've spent just starting at the blinking cursor, feeling it judge me. Anyway, uhm...I finally hit a point with this chapter where I just decided screw it. I'd post what I have and hopefully get to more story progression part of the chapter tomorrow or something. We'll see. 
> 
> This chapter is pretty much pure fluff and stuff. Oh, and they're getting closer to Actually Communicating with each other. I promise everyone, it's gonna happen and it's gonna happen relatively soon.

Crowley had been around long enough that he had heard several hundred...thousand...mothers warn their children not to accept rides from strangers. Of course, they weren't children (well, alright, they weren't _supposed_ to be but, oh and he hated to admit it, he did feel rather childish at times), and it would be next to impossible for a mere human to get the drop on them, but still. He didn't like it. Not one bit. He liked it even less when Maggie turned them down a dirt road that seemingly led into the middle of a dark, dense forest. 

Oh, yes, fine, Maggie _seemed_ like a nice young woman, but couldn't that be said about most serial killers? Dahmer, Gacy, Bundy. All of them had seemed like they were each "such a sweet man". That was how serial killers lured their prey in, by seeming sweet and harmless, and now here he and Aziraphale were, crammed into the cab of an ancient pick up truck, Aziraphale perched awkwardly in his lap, being driven into the woods in the middle of the night, like lambs to a slaughter! 

Crowley tightened his hold around Aziraphale's waist as they jostled over the bumps and rocks and dips of the dirt road. He supposed if he was going to be killed, then getting to hold Aziraphale one last time in his arms like he was would be his final wish. Aside from the few times he had picked his angel up to carry him after the blasted angel passed out, this was the first time Crowley had gotten to hold Aziraphale in nearly four months. Not since the morning they both woke up clear headed in bed and Crowley went and fucked everything up. And it went without saying, it was the first time he really got to put his hands on Aziraphale's stomach, right over the bump where their little pup was growing, blissfully unaware of the turmoil going on around it. To feel the place where soft tummy merged into a slightly firmer roundness. Crowley remembered Heaven, he really did, and it couldn't compare to getting to hold his angel and to touch his stomach reverently, protectively. 

"You will have to forgive the mess," Maggie said out of the blue. "I have not had much time for housework."

"Oh, that is perfectly alright, dear. I own an antique bookshop in London, you see, and I'm afraid it has rather outgrown the space, really. I'm sure your home will be lovely, no matter what."

"You are very kind to say so, monsieur Aziraphale."

Crowley rolled his eyes and mouthed out _monsieur Aziraphale_ to himself as he watched the trees grow denser around them. It was pitch black out when Maggie had come up alongside them, yet it somehow felt as if it had gotten even more so the farther in they went. He tightened his hold on Aziraphale without a thought only to have the angel shift and squirm in his lap. Which Crowley tried very, very, _very,_ hard not to react to. Only biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste the rush of coppery heat roll across his tongue kept him from whimpering and making things remarkably awkward in the tight truck cab. 

"Monsieur Crowley?" 

He turned his head away from the window to look across the darkness at Maggie. Though gave no verbal answer to acknowledge he'd heard her. Didn't matter anyway. The girl had a small, knowing smile on her face and kept her eyes on the road ahead of them. 

"You are very quiet."

A huff and mumble of sounds that didn't even resemble words was the only answer he gave. Which earned him a sharp pinch to the arm in warning. _Behave yourself Crowley!_ It said without words. _We are guests and this young lady is kind enough to help us! Don't be a menace!_

"What do you do in London?" Asked Maggie, finally taking her eyes off the road long enough to cast him a glance. 

"Ehhhh…" he answered oh so intelligently. "Eh, well, uh, well I, eh...investment broker. I, yea. That." 

That sounded innocently evil enough. There were plenty of stock brokers and lawyers in Hell. Not quite half the population of what gets sent down there, but certainly more than murders and serial killers. Animal abusers made up quite a bit of the population, too, now that he thought about it. 

"That sounds exciting. I do not think I would like people putting their money and trust in me like that." 

Crowley opened his mouth to answer with some kind of nonsense or another. Something about people being stupid enough to trust their money in the hands of strangers all in an attempt to get rich quick. Only, nothing came out when he opened his mouth. He tried again and still nothing. He growled internally and shook his head before giving a barely audible hum in reply. Head turned back towards the window, he watched as a building came into view. 

Age old white and yellow tinged stones mingled together in a hodgepodge of groups, coming together carefully at the corners and around the door and set in windows. It certainly looked as though it had seen better days, and in fact, Crowley swore he saw the back half nearly completely caved in on itself. He hoped the rest of the structure was a bit more stable than that. As they drove closer he could see lights were on in several of the windows both downstairs and on the partially hidden second floor (or possible loft, it was hard to tell from outside), and smoke drifted lazily from one of the two chimneys. 

“Oh, my dear,” sighed Aziraphale wistfully, “is this your home? Oh it’s _charming_!”

“Oui,” Maggie answered as the truck rolled to a stop in front of the main door. “Merci, Monsieur Aziraphale. Come, I will show you to your room and begin a meal.” 

The three made their way from truck to house, greeted part way there by an old tri-color Basset Hound waddling towards them on short, stubby legs. Crowley drew up short, a hiss on his lips. He knew from experience that animals tended not to like him. Probably had something to do with being able to smell the fire and brimstone all around him. Sensing his evil nature. So he readied himself for the barking and snarling and lunging for his throat, intent to rip his jugular out and shake him around like a rag doll. 

“Claude!” Maggie dropped to her knees as soon as the dog reached her and wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight hug. She buried her face in his fur for a moment before looking up at them with a bright smile shining in the dim light. 

“Monsieur Aziraphale, Monsieur Crowley, this is Claude. It is his home, we are just allowed to care for it.” She laughed again before giving the dog another squeeze. 

Claude’s tail wagged fast enough to nearly wiggle his butt right to the ground. 

Aziraphale straightened his jumper and offered a smile down to Claude. “Ah, well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, monsieur, and I thank you for your hospitality.” 

“It’s just a dog, Angel.”

“I know that. That doesn’t mean we should be impolite, though.”

Crowley rolled his eyes so hard behind his sunglasses it was a (demonic) miracle he didn’t just fall over backwards from it. He heaved a deep sigh and froze when he felt something nudging against his foot and flopping against his ankle. Claude had come to investigate him and it was only a matter of time before the old beast found a burst of energy to attack him with. He tensed, waiting for that moment, a miracle armed and at the ready should he need to use it. Instead, Crowley watched as Claude moved from one snakeskin boot to the other before sitting back on his haunches and looking up at him, tongue lolled out and what could only be described as a friendly smile on the dog’s face. Which was impossible for a number of reasons not the least of which being, everyone knew dogs couldn’t smile. 

“Uhhhhh…ngk?”

At the front door, Maggie laughed softly and called back over her shoulder as she turned the key in the lock. "Claude has decided he likes you." 

Crowley stared down at the dog, taking in the way his sad eyes drooped and his ears touched the ground next his large out-turned front paws. It was a rule, it always had been, that animals didn’t trust Crowley, they didn’t _like_ him. He was a demon, a _snake_ , and for the most part they all seemed to sense and understand that. Except for Claude, apparently. 

“It’s only a _dog_ , Crowley,” Aziraphale mumbled back at him as he moved to step past Crowley and Claude to follow Maggie into the house. 

“Right,” answered Crowley in a low mumble of his own, still not taking his eyes off the hound. “Just a dog. Yeah.”

Warm, comforting light spilled out of the house and onto the front garden, which was apparently the sign Claude needed in order to get up and make his way in after his owner. The damned thing even paused to look back at Crowley, almost as if it were checking to make sure he was following them in, before shuffling through the doorway and disappearing around a corner. Crowley watched for another second or two, scanned the woods surrounding the cottage, and finally made his way inside. 

It was sparse, which he could appreciate, but still somehow managed to give off the same safe, warm comfort of Aziraphale’s cluttered shop back in London. Overall, the home wasn’t fancy or trendy, it didn’t scream the modern aesthetic of “French Farmhouse Chic’” some places insisted on trying to pull off. It was the _original_ French farmhouse aesthetic. Exposed beams that were rough and grey with age, stone interior walls that directly matched the exterior. Handcrafted wood furniture in the rooms Crowley could see, and a fire crackling away in the brick hearth to his right. It was old and dated, there was no denying that, but there was... _charm_ to it, he supposed. 

Plus he could hear a TV playing off in another room so there was at least electricity, which made him feel a little better about being abducted to a secluded cottage in the woods. 

He wandered his way further into the house, following the sound of Aziraphale’s voice, until he found the other two tucked away in a small kitchen. Aziraphale settled primly at the table, while Maggie swiftly moved about the room to gather ingredients for dinner. As soon as Crowley stepped into the room, Aziraphale turned a bright smile his way.

“Oh! There you are! My dear, Maggie was just telling me that this house has been in her family for _six generations_. Isn’t that wonderful?” 

Crowley poured himself into the chair beside Aziraphale, limbs all akimbo in his natural sprawl, and gave a small hum and nod. “ ‘Mazing. Not much for modern comforts, though, are you?”

At the stove, Maggie flashed him a quick smile. “We have what we need to get by. Though, if you care to clean up, you will have to go to the stream in the back.” 

“Stream out _back_?” Crowley’s jaw nearly hit the table. He hadn’t needed to use a stream to bathe in in...in...over a hundred years at least! Still staring for a moment, mouth working to produce words and only managing to get partial sounds out instead, he looked from Maggie to the back door and back to Maggie again. Just in time to see her flash Aziraphale a wink and giggle. 

“No,” she answered. “There is a bath upstairs you may use. I will show you when dinner is done.”

His eyes narrowed behind his dark glasses as he slouched even more in his chair. Arms folded over his chest, Crowley huffed and looked away. It was all well and good to cause mischief on other people himself, it was something else entirely to have that mischief turned back on him. Unless Aziraphale was the one who’d done it. Even then though, he wasn’t very good at it. 

Beside him, Aziraphale did a horrible job of hiding his own quiet chuckles. 

The bastard. 

~*~*~

The rest of the home wasn’t all that terribly different from what Crowley had seen when they’d walked in. An upstairs with three bedrooms and the promised indoor bath (complete with large antique soaker tub/shower combo). One room, Maggie explained on their short tour, was hers, one belonged to her grandfather, and the final one would be theirs for the night. Not that Crowley planned to do much sleeping, he had a shield to keep up after all, but he could appreciate the double bed and large windows just the same. 

"Well this is quaint," Aziraphale remarked as he slipped by Crowley and stepped further into the room to look around.

"Not sure that's how I'd describe it, but yeah, guess so."

Crowley turned a slow circle around the room, orbiting Aziraphale with each step he took. Behind him, Aziraphale huffed softly. 

"No, of course not. You'd describe it...how? Old? Outdated? An eyesore, perhaps?"

At another time, not so long ago in fact, Crowley would have nodded along with each adjective and then tacked on a few more of his own. Which only went to show just how well they knew each other. Or at least, maybe, how well they _thought_ they knew each other. And wasn't that a laugh? 6,000 years of friendship (give or take a few centuries) and it all finally came down to one thing: did they even _really_ know each other? Aziraphale seemed to think so. He'd had Crowley figured out by the time they'd met back up in Rome all those hundreds of years ago. A demon. Incapable of doing good. Incapable of being anything other than evil and an agent of Hell. And most importantly, utterly and completely blind to love. 

That was where Aziraphale was wrong, though. Crowley wasn't blind to it. He'd watched it grow between Adam and Eve, between Eve and her children. The first crimes of passion had maybe been slightly his fault, yes, he'd own that, but he'd still been there when the Greeks designed the many different ways a person could love. Crowley had even watched in wonder and awe, hidden in the shadows of course, as two males embraced and took each other to bed for the first time. Long before Leviticus had his say in the Old Testament about it being sinful and unnatural. Oh, he remembered old Leviticus, alright. He also remembered the theological debate he'd had with the bastard and how he'd wiped the floor with the old coot. 

No, love was the one thing Crowley knew better than anything, and knew better than _anyone_ not to let on about it. So for millennia he hid it away, scoffed and sneered whenever it was brought up, feigned ignorance at the Tadfield Manor when Aziraphale said it felt loved. He felt it. Just like he felt the way his heart clenched and his chest burned tight at hearing Aziraphale's scoff and tone. 

Maybe they didn't really know each other as well as they thought, but that didn't change the fact Crowley knew he was hopelessly in love with one fussy angel and with one tiny being he hadn't even had a chance to meet yet. 

With his shoulders slacked, Crowley gave a sigh of his own and shook his head. "I'm gonna go draw you a bath, Angel." He said, turning to start out the door. 

"A bath? Why?"

Crowley turned around to face Aziraphale. "Because...I...eh…" He felt his jaw go slack and the weight of defeat settle heavy across his body. He was tired, it wasn't easy keeping demonic and angelic powers damped so they couldn't be traced. He was so tired and truly just didn't want to argue anymore. 

"Why has everything become a fight for you?" He finally asked, voice barely more than a whisper. "Why can't I just...you…" 

From the corner of his eye Crowley watched Aziraphale straighten his shoulders and tilt his chin up just so with stubborn defiance. "Not everything has become a fight to me, Crowley. I just don’t --"

Crowley raised one eyebrow above the rim of his glasses as Aziraphale cut himself off. Realization dawning across his face. His mouth formed a silent "oh" and he looked away, pink creeping up his ears. It'd be a good look on him, all flushed pink, but at the moment Crowley couldn't bring himself to think about all the different ways he could cause that color to paint across Aziraphale's skin. 

"Look --" Crowley started to make his way back towards the door as he spoke "-- I know you don't like being bossed 'round by a _demon_ ," he froze in place, a low grumble of a growl rumbling in his chest as Aziraphale opened his mouth, "oh for _somebody's_ sake! Can you not argue with me for two minutes? Go take a bath. Relax a bit. Then go to bed."

For a moment Crowley thought Aziraphale wasn't going to answer him. Or if he did answer, it'd be another argument against what Crowley had asked him to do. The two minutes were up, after all. Instead, when Aziraphale did speak, his voice was quiet, small. Smaller than Crowley'd ever heard it be before. 

"What will you be doing? While...while I'm...relaxing, I mean."

"Dunno. I'll think of something."

~*~*~

Aziraphale stood in the middle of the bathroom, steam from his bath still swirling around him in gentle wisps. Soaking in the tub for a while had done wonders for the tight, stiff muscles in his back, he had to admit. Lavender and lilac scented candles lined the window and since Maggie had told them to make themselves at home, he hadn't seen any harm in lighting them while he soaked. He'd closed his eyes for just a second and when he'd opened them again the water had turned cool. A folded fluffy blue towel sat on the closed toilet, warm to the touch as if it had just come out of a dryer, with an equally warm and fluffy terry cloth robe tucked under it. 

Aziraphale wondered for a moment if Crowley had popped them in for him while he dozed. 

Warmed from the inside out, he set his hand gently on his stomach as he stared at himself in the mirror. It was hard to truly see if he had an actual "baby bump", but a quick rub from softness to a bit of tightening lower on his abdomen gave away the progress their little one was making. Crowley hadn't been wrong. Aziraphale had been turning everything into a fight lately, he just, well, he couldn't figure out _why_ he was doing it. Crowley was only trying to help, was trying in the only ways he knew how to in order to take care of him and the baby. How did Aziraphale thank him? By being snappish and...oh fine yes, he was a stubborn git, just like Crowley had said. 

The backs of Aziraphale's eyes began to prickle as he thought more on how he'd been treating Crowley lately. Not just since he'd come back from wherever he'd disappeared to fourteen weeks ago, but before that as well. His lip trembled and he felt the tears stick to his lashes the more he thought. 

"How has he not given up on us yet, hm?" He quietly asked his belly. "I've been so wretched lately, I...I don't even know _why_!"

A hiccup startled out of him as a knock rapt softly against the door. 

" 'Ziraphale? You alright?" 

Crowley. Of course it was, who else would it have been? Well, he supposed Maggie, but that didn't seem overly likely. Aziraphale sniffled and nodded, then remembered Crowley couldn't see through the wood door, and fought to keep the tremble out of his voice as he answered, "F-fine. Yes. I...tic-tickety-boo…"

Silence wrapped around him and stole away some of his warmth. He shuddered at the chill that suddenly ran down his spine. another silent moment passed before Crowley spoke again. 

"Right. 'M coming in." 

Aziraphale didn't have time to protest, or to grab the robe off the toilet lid, before the door opened just enough for Crowley's thin frame to slip through. A click of the door closing behind Crowley was the only sound between them, followed rather quickly by a small 'eep' like noise from Aziraphale, as Crowley stood and stared. He'd pressed himself back against the door as much as he could, mouth hanging open like a fish for the briefest of moments before snapping shut again. Aziraphale tried to wrap the towel around himself a little better, but it was no use. It was just shy of being long enough to keep him covered, which meant it really didn't cover him all that well at all. Still, he tried. 

He sniffled again in embarrassment and looked away. Another stray tear rolled down his cheek as he fought to blink them away. Oh what a ridiculous mess he'd become. Crowley moved away from the door at that -- Aziraphale saw the motion out the corner of his eye, blurry though it may be -- and stepped further into the room. His warm hand rested on Aziraphale's bare shoulder, gentle pressure just to let him know Crowley was right beside him. It was too much, though. The tears started right back up, his breaths coming in short sobs.

"Eyyy, what's wrong? Are you alright?"

Even Crowley's voice was soft and gentle! 

Awkward sense of modesty forgotten, Aziraphale turned in towards Crowley and pressed his face into the Alpha's shoulder, his arms coming up to wrap around his neck to cling to him as best as he could. He felt Crowley go tense under him, the towel drop to the floor with just the barest whisper. It took a terrifyingly long couple of seconds before Crowley's arms snaked around his waist to pull him in tighter against his chest. 

"Shhh...shhh…" soothed Crowley. His nose nudged and rubbed against Aziraphale’s neck and cheek as he ran his hands in slow, smooth circles around Aziraphale’s bare back. “Shhh...it’s alright, Angel.”

Aziraphale shook his head and tried to pull away only to stop when a hand grasped the nape of his neck gently but firmly. A warm weight against his skin that seemed to soothe his Omega instincts almost instantly, despite Crowley not being his mate. Perhaps it was in part due to the fact Crowley was the father of their unborn pup that helped to calm him. Whatever it was, Aziraphale didn’t want it to end. He wasn’t sure the last time Crowley had his hand on him -- standing outside their stranded car notwithstanding -- or when it might happen again. 

Whimpering, Aziraphale settled his forehead back down on Crowley’s shoulder and shook his head. 

“N-no! It’s not al-alright!” He wailed. “I...oh Crowley...I...I’ve been simply _horrible_ towards you lately! I...I hav-haven’t meant to b-be! I’m s-s-sorry. I don’t...don’t know why I’m being such a...so…”

Crowley made more shushing noises and pressed his nose into Aziraphale’s hair. That warm, enticing scent of spiced cider and crisp autumn nights engulfed him again and it was all Aziraphale could do to keep from burying his face into the crook of Crowley’s neck. It was calming and comforting in a way nothing else had ever been for him and he wanted to drink it all in, keep it with him wherever they went. It took a moment to realize he was being gently swayed back and forth as Crowley continued to rub his back. 

“Think we’ve both been ‘round humans long enough to know why, Angel.” Crowley finally sighed into his hair and Aziraphale could have sworn he felt a soft kiss pressed to his crown. He shrugged it off as his overly emotional state playing tricks on him, though. 

“ ‘Member Eve? Mm? When she was expecting Seth? ‘Member how she’d get all sobby one minute then turn around and be raging over something small the next? Think we’re just going to have to get used to the fact you’re going to need sleep and be all...emotional or...whatever.” 

Another whimpery whine escaped Aziraphale. His Omega instincts crying out for comfort and protection, to be soothed and taken care of. It wanted its Alpha. Or at least _an_ Alpha. No, that wasn’t right at all. No, it wanted _Crowley_. 

Giving in to his desire, Aziraphale leaned up just enough to press his face in close against Crowley’s neck. His nose right against that glorious scent gland that filled his head and heart with affection. 

Crowley gave a short gasp and tightened his arms around Aziraphale’s waist. His hands trailed just ever so slightly lower, playing across the dip of his tailbone and the barely there dimples on either side of it. The gentleness of it sent shivers up Aziraphale’s spine, which in turn made him whimper and cling to Crowley all the more. Crowley’s cheek rubbed against the top of his head as he gave another soft shushing noise. He held onto Aziraphale for a few seconds longer before gently pulling away to take hold of his shoulders. 

“Look,” he started, “ ‘m sorry if I’ve been ehhh...well...y’know…”

“A prat?”

A startled chuckle filled the narrow space between them and Crowley nodded. “Right. Sure. Yeah. Prat sounds ‘bout right. ‘M sorry, okay? I promise I’ll try not to be from now on. Alright? Now, c’mon. Let’s get you tucked away in bed, hm?”

Aziraphale swallowed thickly, a few stray tears still trickling down his cheeks as Crowley stepped away and returned a moment later with the still warm robe. He wrapped it around Aziraphale, adjusted it just so, and moved to cup the back of his neck again. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut as he sighed softly. It was almost hypnotic the way Crowley managed to get him calmed down like he had. He didn’t even mind when Crowley chuckled at him and led him out of the bathroom and across the hall to the room they’d been given for the night. If Crowley kept it up, Aziraphale would likely follow him off a cliff if that was what Crowley wanted. 

Thankfully, that wasn’t the case, and apparently what Crowley wanted was to maneuver Aziraphale into a pair of borrowed blue striped pyjama pants and an oversized fleece jumper. Neither smelled like Crowley at all, instead they smelled like fresh fallen snow, a thousand unpolluted winters. It wasn’t a _bad_ smell, per se, but it wasn’t what he wanted most. Distantly he mourned the fact the blanket he’d stolen from Crowley was still back at the stranded car. Maybe it was his quickly changing hormones, or his Omega instincts, or even just some connection to their pup that had Aziraphale long for Crowley to stay with him. To take care of him and hold him close while he slept. He’d been sleeping far more than he was used to, after all, and every time he’d fallen asleep he’d been alone. When he woke up, he was still alone. Aziraphale didn’t want to fall asleep alone anymore. Or wake up to a cold, empty spot beside him. 

As Crowley turned down the blankets on the bed, Aziraphale reached out to take hold of Crowley’s sleeve. 

“Stay…” he whispered. 

Crowley turned his head, a frown creasing his sharp features. “Wut?”

“Stay,” repeated Aziraphale. “Please?” 

For a moment they could only stare at each other. Aziraphale felt another whine catch in the back of his throat. No...Crowley wouldn’t stay with him. Not like that. It was too much to ask. Just because he’d decided to stay nearby didn’t mean that he’d want to share a bed with him again. Aziraphale felt stupid for even thinking that Crowley would -- 

“Ngk.” It wasn’t an eloquent reply, but then again, Crowley rarely could string two thoughts together when he didn’t know how to answer something. “A-Alright. You sure?”

Aziraphale nodded. He knew it probably wasn’t playing fair to turn his patented wide, pleading, puppy eyes on Crowley, but he’d learned long ago it seemed to do the trick in getting Crowley to do things for him. It never seemed to fail him. And it wouldn’t this time, either. 

Crowley stared for a moment, clearly trying to put on a show of not falling victim to those eyes yet again. He couldn’t last long, though, of course, and soon enough he had nodded his head and stepped away from the bed to motion Aziraphale under the covers. 

“Right. Okay then. You uh...get comfy, I guess. ‘M just...gonna...go take a quick shower an’ then I’ll be back.” 

It wasn’t a great answer, not at all the one Aziraphale truly wanted to hear, but it wasn’t a no. Crowley just wanted to get cleaned up, too. That was fair. With a small nod, Aziraphale carefully settled himself in the strange bed, once again surrounded by a fresh winter scent -- with just a hint of possibly cranberry mingled in along with it -- and swallowed thickly as Crowley pulled the covers up over him to tuck him in before disappearing out the bedroom door. 

Try though as he might to keep his eyes open Aziraphale soon found himself drifting off peacefully. He was only vaguely aware that Crowley even came back from his shower, all warm and damp and inviting. The mattress dipped under him, blankets lifted to let the slight chill in before falling back down, capturing their body heat in a cloth bubble around them. Aziraphale shifted and snuffled softly as he was moved and positioned and tucked in close against a warm, bare chest. Strong arms wrapped protectively around him. There. That was what he’d wanted. He snuggled himself in closer, buried his nose in the soft red hairs of Crowley’s chest, and sighed contentedly. 

“Sleep, Angel,” Crowley murmured. “Shh…’m right here. ‘M not going anywhere. Just sleep.”


	9. Art break -- not an actual chapter. Sorry =/

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, so, sorry but this isn't actual a chapter. It IS, however, kind of a thank you gift to everyone who has been reading and commenting and supporting me through this thing. I know I'm rubbish at replying to comments, but I want you all to know that I read each and every one of them and give a happy little Aziraphale wiggle for each one I've read. You guys are all amazing and wonderful and so I hope you'll all enjoy this little illustration I did up.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to apologize, profusely, for how long it took me to get this chapter written. I've been having a really rough time (mentally/emotionally) lately and have found myself wanting to burying myself in other people's words and worlds and try to forget everything about mine exists. I didn't give up on this fic...of everything else I've been giving up on, this fic hasn't been one of them. It's just...well...it's just been hard to find the energy to care about a lot of things lately so it's been hard for me to write. And even though I'm still having a hard time writing, I'm trying to push through. 
> 
> Secondly, I'm sorry you guys had to wait so long for this chapter and this is what you got. Personally, I don't think it's all that great, but it's all I could do right now.
> 
> I truly hope people don't give up on ~~me~~ this fic. Your kudos and comments are the only things keeping me writing and wanting to write instead of just letting my depression sink its claws in further and just stay sleeping in bed forever.

When Crowley had imagined running away with Aziraphale, which he had. Quite often, in fact. In full, curved screen, 4k Ultra High Def, brilliant bright and shining technicolor, to be exact. This was definitely not how it had happened. Okay, so, his original two attempts to run off together with his angel had been half-baked at best, but he hadn’t had time to really sort out how to convince Aziraphale those two times. It was a spur of the moment, the world’s going to shit around us, let’s get out while we still have a chance, kind of thing.

He’d had more time since then to plan out how to do it. It would have been something great, something that Aziraphale would have swooned over, honestly. Like something out of one of his beloved books.  _ Romantic _ even. With flowery words and grand gestures and a promise to treat him to only the best and finest of everything. And in his imagination, Aziraphale would smile and call him a “ridiculous old serpent” before falling into his arms and they’d kiss and go make use of that upstairs flat before packing a couple of bags and off they’d go. 

Instead? Well, instead Crowley had essentially abducted Aziraphale while he slept. Which definitely had not been part of his plan. 

With a heavy sigh, he kissed the top of Aziraphale's head softly before very carefully extracting himself out from under the sleeping angel. Aziraphale needed as much rest as he could get and Crowley needed to keep himself awake and alert. He made his way down the stairs and out onto the front porch. Through the canopy of leaves he could make out the rich, deep bluish-purple that made up the night sky, and with it, all the stars he'd worked so hard on all those centuries ago. He still remembered their names. Their true names, not the ones arbitrarily assigned to them by the humans. 

"Suppose this is just one big laugh for you, innit?" He grumbled, staring up at the heavens above. "Hope you know what your precious  _ Gabriel _ has been up to." 

"Monsieur Crowley?" Crowley spun around at the sound of his name, ready to strike if need be, only to find Maggie standing there with two steaming mugs in her hands. "Who were you talking to?"

"No one. Nothing. Myself."

Maggie hummed but didn't press. She stepped up next to him at the railing and held one of the mugs out for him. 

"You looked like you could use a cup of coffee."

Crowley accepted the mug but kept his eyes looking upwards. "Need something a lot stronger than coffee." 

Beside him, Maggie gave a light chuckle. "Then I suppose it is a good thing that it is...how you say, Irish?"

_ That _ got Crowley's attention and he stared first at the young woman, then down at the mug in hand. The glorious, heady scent of fresh ground coffee mixed with whiskey wafted up to him and he wondered briefly how he hadn't been able to smell it before. Too distracted, he supposed. 

"Right," he mumbled, still staring his coffee down skeptically. 

The pair stood silently at the railing for a long while, sipping at their drinks. Claude made his shuffling way over to them only to flop down beside Crowley's boot, using the expensive snakeskin as a pillow for his heavy jowls.

“Why are you down here? Your mate is upstairs sleeping, no?”

Crowley quirked an eyebrow over the rim of his glasses but didn’t give an answer. 

“Why are  _ you _ down here?” he questioned in return. “Shouldn’t you be upstairs sleeping?”

At that, Maggie gave a small chuckle. “I do not sleep much. My Papa said I always had more important things to do than waste my time sleeping.”

Crowley gave a quiet hum before taking a long, slow sip of coffee. That sounded rather like Aziraphale, actually. Why waste time sleeping when he could be reading or ghost conducting an opera alone in his bookshop or something? If Crowley were human, not just a former-celestial being wrapped up in a human male shaped form, people would probably say his sleeping so much was a sign of depression and that Aziraphale's lack of sleeping was a sign of severe insomnia. Which wouldn't be wrong, and maybe it could still be said about former-celestial beings wrapped up in human male forms, but Crowley wasn't going to think about that. 

They stood in silence for a bit longer, the sounds of the night forest all around them mixing pleasantly with the soft snores of Claude at their feet. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but it was still the kind that closed in when neither person was really sure what to talk about. Or in Crowley's case, when he didn't want to talk at all. Talking required a higher brain function than he was able to give. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck and mentally cursed his traitorous human corporation. Keeping the shield up around them was becoming harder and harder. He considered letting it down enough so that he could get some sleep, recharge himself enough that he could keep Aziraphale safe; surely Heaven and Hell wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything while they were staying with humans. 

Then again…

Being kidnapped in broad daylight in a crowded park hadn't stopped them, why would a small French family? A quick glance down to his foot had Crowley amend that particular thought. A small French family and one lazy old sawed off bloodhound. 

"Why are you helping us?" Crowley finally asked. "People don't just help strangers stranded on the side of the road in the middle of the night anymore, you know. And they definitely don't invite them into their home."

Maggie glanced out the corner of her eye at him before taking a long sip from her mug. Almost as if she wasn't planning to answer him. The mug settled on the railing in front of her, she turned her head to look over her shoulder, back into the cozy rooms behind them. When she answered, her voice was soft and reverent. 

"My grandpapa was saved by a German soldier when he was a boy. The Nazis had come through and gathered up all the Jews they could find. Took their homes and businesses from them. They came here, to this house. Two soldiers who had been separated from their troops. One of them was badly injured and so my great-grandma tended to him, nursed him back to health. She did not care that these two men were ordered to take their home and lives. She saw a man in need of help, and so she helped.” 

Crowley tilted his head in acknowledgement but didn't say anything. He wasn't even sure what any of it had to do with why she had decided to help them in the first place. Although, the more she talked, the less Crowley had to, so he wasn't going to complain.

Her eyes trained on her mug, Maggie quietly continued her story. "When the young soldier grew strong enough, and learned he’d been tended to by a Jewish family, he became enraged. He killed them all, one by one. Except for my grandpapa. The enraged soldier’s friend had taken a liking to my grandpapa and earlier in the day had taken him out to go fishing and swimming. They heard the gunshots and screaming on their way home. The soldier hid my grandpapa away, covered him in brush to keep him safe. Later, after the enraged one had fallen into a drunken sleep, the other returned to find my grandpapa. He gave him food, money, and an address. Sent him off with instructions on how to find others who would help him and protect him until it was safe to come home again.” 

She turned then, leveling a knowing stare at Crowley. One that had him shifting uncomfortably. 

“So many choices were made that changed lives. My great-grandmama and the rest of her family could have survived the war; but the brother, son, uncle, father...to another family could have died had she not chosen to help him. My grandpapa could have been killed with the others if the soldier’s friend had not decided to show kindness on a boy and saved his life by defying orders. To help those who need help is a choice and a risk. One no one in my family has ever regretted. You and your partner needed help, help I could provide you, and so I did. How you go forward from here is now up to you.”

~*~*~

Aziraphale woke with a soft sniffle, his chest tight as if he'd been crying, which he very well could have been. There were three things he noticed when he slowly blinked his eyes open: 1) Crowley was no longer in bed with him; 2) he did not recognize the room he was in and that sent his heart racing; and 3) well, three scared and confused him the most… number 3 was...Sandalphon standing at the side of his bed. A cruel smirk that showed off his golden cross in the middle of his front teeth, a sadistic gleam in his eyes as he watched Aziraphale flail and struggle to sit upright. Which, to his horror, seemed to be impossible. 

"It's no use fighting," sneered Sandalphon, "there's nothing you can do but lie there and accept your punishment."

"P-punishment? What punishment? What...what are you doing here?" Aziraphale fought with all his might to sit up, to get up and put as much distance between himself and the malicious Archangel as he could, but to no avail. He was stuck. Trapped. 

Sandalphon's smile only grew bigger, more threatening. A testament to how truly bad of an angel he was. Not for the first time, Aziraphale wondered why the Almighty hadn't cast him out. Better angels had fallen for less in the past. Crowley was the best example, of course. 

"I've been sent by the Almighty --" Sandalphon's nasally voice and snide tone yanked Aziraphale back from his thoughts "--to see that you are delivered your just dues. You've gone against the Almighty, the Great Plan, and against your very nature as an angel. Only the LORD may create life."

Aziraphale couldn't breathe, and for some reason found himself desperately needing to. He couldn't even bring his hands up to protect his stomach from Sandalphon's sneer and glare. Where was Crowley? What had they done to him? Surely they had to have done  _ something _ to him for him not to already be there. Crowley hated Sandalphon nearly as much as he hated Gabriel. 

"The LORD is not happy that you and your... _ demon _ ...went against her divine orders."

"If...if the Almighty is  _ truly _ upset about s-something I've…that I've done, then - then - well then She will have to be the one to do something about it!"

It didn't seem possible for Sandalphon to look any more sinister, any more like he was taking some kind of sick glee out of what he was putting Aziraphale through, and yet it apparently was possible. He almost appeared to grow larger, to tower over the bed as he leaned down until he was nose to nose with Aziraphale. The strong scent of garlic wafted over him -- for some reason, despite not eating (at least, as far as Aziraphale knew, anyway), Sandalphon's breath always reeked of garlic.

"You really are just as stupid as Gabriel has always said you were." Aziraphale flinched, both from the words and the stench. Somehow, rotten eggs had managed to join the unpleasant mix. "Haven't you figured it out yet? SHE has done something about it. She sent  _ me. _ "

Aziraphale's eyes went wide as tears instantly sprung to them and began rolling down his cheeks as he tried to protect himself and more importantly his and Crowley's pup. Sandalphon stood over him, maniacal laughter bounced off the walls of the borrowed bedroom, close on the heels of the taunts and jabs the other angel made at his expense. Pain tore through him. His lungs stopped working, his heart stopped beating. Fear and terror and desperation engulfed him as black began to close in around him.

"S-st-stop! Please! Y-you m-mu-must...st...op. Crowley! Hel...help! Crowley! Crowley! CROWLEY!!!!!"

~*~*~

Back on the front porch, just below the bedroom where Aziraphale slept, Claude lifted his head from Crowley’s boot and tilted his nose up into the air. A quiet  _ hruff _ rumbled out of him, followed by another a moment later. Crowley, who had been studying his Irish coffee intently for the last few minutes, pondering over the story Maggie had told him, glanced down to the Basset and frowned. Maggie leaned around to eye her dog before looking back out into the darkened forest. 

“Claude? What is it? What is wrong?”

A low growl drifted up from the hound as he pushed himself to his feet and scented the air again with another  _ hruff-hruff! _ The hair on the back of Crowley’s neck began to rise, an odd and unpleasant mix of rot, decay, and sulfur odors drifted in around them. It was enough to turn the stomach of even the most veteran soldier or doctor. The air around them seemed to charge the way it would just before a lightning strike. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. 

Claude’s quiet huffs and growls turned loud and insistent between one breath and the next. His short fur stood up on end as he barked and howled at the sky, turning in circles before starting for the cottage door and starting all over again. Maggie did her best to make him be quiet, knowing that Aziraphale -- as well as her grandfather -- was trying to sleep. A shudder ran down Crowley’s spine just as his brain finally caught up with why the stench seemed so familiar. 

His mug dropped from his hands and shattered across the stone floor of the porch at the same time as a scream was heard from the window above. 

“ _ CROWLEY!!” _

“AZIRAPHALE!” 

Crowley turned and leapt over Claude, his long legs practically getting in the way of themselves on his way through the house and up the stairs. Sobs filled the air, the frantic thrashing and begging of someone caught in a struggle. He burst through the door to Aziraphale’s room, a snarl on his face and fangs at the ready. 

“ _ Let him go, Mara! _ ” He snarled. 

Black mist filled the room, swirling over Aziraphale as he continued to sob and jerk about. Horns formed in the mist, followed by gnarled clawed hands and sulfur yellow eyes that laughed and mocked him with each step he took. 

_ BUT WHY SHOULD I? HE’S SO MUCH FUN TO PLAY WITH. _

There was no mouth for the words to come from, and in fact, they didn’t really seem to come from anywhere, but instead... _ everywhere _ all at once. From every corner and shadow of the room. In hisses and snarls, growls and devilish noises; in every language, every dialect, a reminder that nowhere and no  _ one _ was safe from their torment.

Anger that Crowley hadn’t felt the likes of for centuries rose up inside him. Violence wasn’t something he was particularly fond of, but he suddenly found himself wanting to tear the demon limb from limb and then do it all over again. 

“I’m warning you...let. Him. Go.  _ Now _ .”

A laugh, if you wanted to call it that, filled the air and the mist swirled in an impish like dance over the bed. 

_ OH? A WARNING? FROM YOU? HOW QUAINT. WHAT DO YOU INTEND TO DO IF I DON’T? HE TRULY HAS SO MANY FEARS AND INSECURITIES FOR ME TO PLAY IN. I RATHER LIKE HIM. _

Crowley’s snarl grew and he could feel his control begin to slip. Not once in 6,000 years had he slipped back into his own demon skin, not fully at least, he’d always been too afraid he’d forget how to get out of it again, but his careful control could only withstand so much before it snapped. And it had already begun to crack. 

From behind him, another loud bark and growl sounded. For being a hound of very short legs, Claude seemed to waste no time in getting into the room and going straight for the demon of nightmares, Mara. For a moment Crowley honestly feared that Claude had finally realized who and what he was and was, in fact, coming to attack him. Of course, as everyone knows, dogs are a remarkable judge of character and fundamentally good and loving creatures. A demon such as Mara was no match for a canine that knew danger and evil when it smelled it. Things happened faster than Crowley could keep track of. One minute Mara was cackling like the villain from a B rate horror movie, the next they were letting loose a screech that could make glass break and ears bleed, and then...nothing. There was nothing but silence. Well, silence save for the soft whimpers that came from the bed. 

A nightmare demon wasn't capable of causing physical harm to their target, they left that up to their target's own reflexes and survival instincts, but the emotional and mental harm they could inflict more than made up for it in the end. At the side of the bed, Claude whined as he set his large snout on the quilt covering Aziraphale. Crowley retracted his fangs, felt his eyes normalize, blood pressure slowly drop back down again before he moved for the bed. He didn't bother to try and shoo Claude away, he simply moved over and around him until he was able to pull Aziraphale gently up into his arms and quietly shush him.

"It's alright, Angel. You're safe. It was just a bad dream. I've got you."

Aziraphale whimpered softly, still squirming in his sleep against Crowley's chest. 

"C'mon now, Aziraphale, wake up for me. C'mon. Wake up. Dammit, Angel, stop doing this to me. I promise I'll never sleep again if you just wake up for me now, okay?" Mumbled Crowley, face buried in the soft white curls of Aziraphale's hair. "So help me, 'Ziraphale, if you used another miracle and now I have to deal with you being passed out again…"

With another sniffle and whimper, Aziraphale turned his head to press his face into Crowley’s chest and brought one hand up to cling to the demon’s shirt. He shuddered for a moment before he finally hiccupped and pulled away. Crowley’s heart clenched in his chest as soon as Aziraphale’s eyes met his. Those blue-green eyes were always so expressive, always had been, right from the beginning. Well, at least, as far as Crowley knew anyway. They sparkled and shone brighter than any stars or nebulas Crowley had ever created when Aziraphale was happy and laughing. Whenever Aziraphale was being a right bastard, they glimmered with mischief. When he was sad, though, oh when Aziraphale was sad his eyes turned to a rain cloud grey, dull and dim. His hurt was always clear behind the shine of well restrained tears. 

Aziraphale’s eyes weren’t just the rain cloud grey this time. There was more than just sadness showing in them. Fear, pain, worry. An entire myriad of emotions played across his face as he stared up at Crowley and held onto him for dear life. 

“Crowley…” whimpered Aziraphale. "I...I called for you. I called for you but you...you didn't come. I needed you and...and…"

Crowley shook his head, quickly cutting Aziraphale off before he could get any further. "Shh...ey, no. I came soon as I heard you call me. It was just a bad dream. That's all."

"It...it was?"

"Yeah. 'M sorry, Angel." Guilt curled itself around Crowley as he reached up to brush away the tears still lingering on Aziraphale's cheek. "Nightmare. Bloody Mara tracked us down. I didn't...I couldn't...fuck. 'Ziraphale, since when did you start having nightmares?"

Aziraphale turned his face away from Crowley, and for a moment he seemed almost smaller than usual. Like he was trying to make himself as small as possible so that he didn't have to answer. After a moment though, with his eyes still turned towards the quilt on his lap, he shrugged. 

"They started while you were away. After…"

"...after I was a twat and took off on you?"

Aziraphale nodded.

"I...I started having them a month or so after you helped me through my Heat. Such terrible dreams, I...oh Crowley, they were always so awful! And so real! I'd try so hard not to fall asleep, force myself to stay awake, but it never worked! I'd fall asleep eventually and didn't know why at the time, and then the nightmares would start up again, and...and that's when I started staying at your flat. They didn't seem as bad while I was there."

It would be a complete and utter lie to say that Crowley didn't feel a rush of possessive glee over hearing those words. That the Alpha part of him didn't sit up and preen and take pride in the fact his flat brought comfort to his Omega even while he himself wasn't there. Because it did. Greatly. It wasn't an admission of wanting Crowley to Bond with him and to fully become his mate, but it was better than nothing. An Omega who felt safe and secure in an Alpha's home while said Alpha wasn't there had to be a good thing, didn't it? Deep seated instinct said that yes, yes it was.

He brushed his thumb under Aziraphale's eye to wipe away another stray tear and leaned down to nose and nuzzle at his angel's neck and cheek. It wasn't fantastic comfort, but it seemed to help settle them both and Crowley had to admit the change in scent that had taken place on Aziraphale was more than a little intoxicating. It was a sign to anyone able to pick up on it that they had joined together and that Aziraphale was carrying their living, growing proof of that. 

With one hand gripping the nape of Aziraphale’s neck protectively, Crowley slowly lowered the one that had been cupping his cheek and smoothed it first down Aziraphale’s chest -- firm but gentle strokes up and down his sternum -- before letting it settle on the soft swell of his belly. It was still far too soon to feel any movement there, but Crowley didn’t care. They were two celestial beings, which meant their pup was too, and as such Crowley could feel the low thrum of energy they gave off mingling there with Aziraphale’s. 

“‘M sorry I wasn’t there for you, ‘Ziraphale,” Crowley murmured, voice muffled by the softness of the omega’s neck. “I should never have left you alone like that. ‘S not bad enough I gotta worry about fuckin’ Gabriel coming after you, now that bleedin’ bastard Mara’s come after us, too and I don’t…” he trailed off and shook his head. “How’m I s’pose to protect you from nightmares?”

A gentle tapping at the door brought them both alert, Crowley nearly snarled in defense of his angel until the familiar scent of beta, human, female cut through the fog of his mind. He glanced over his shoulder as Maggie slipped into the room, a tray in hand that she set carefully on the bedside table. She kept her eyes averted and when she spoke, her tone was soft and gentle and directed towards Crowley. 

“I made some warm milk. It won’t help against the nightmares, but it has always helped to comfort me after a bad dream. There is also some tea, if you want it. It will help to fall back to sleep.”

Crowley eyed her for a moment. There was something strange about her, he was sure of it, he just still hadn’t figured out what it was. It almost seemed as if she knew more about them than they’d told her; like she knew what they were...maybe not that they were an angel and a demon, but more like she knew they were an Alpha and an Omega. Which, as far as Crowley knew, was impossible since all humans were Betas by default. Sure some had distinctly Alpha type personalities while others had the gentle, submissive caring vibe that Omegas were supposed to be known for, but there weren’t any  _ true _ Alphas and Omegas among the humans. Not in the same way that there was between angels and demons. 

Right?

Aziraphale sniffled in Crowley’s arms and shifted a bit to be able to cast Maggie a thankful little smile. He didn’t make any attempts to pull away from Crowley, though, in fact he damn near seemed to try to burrow himself in against Crowley all the more. 

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “That was very kind of you. I’m terribly sorry for being such an imposition.” 

Maggie finally lifted her gaze and smiled. “You are no imposition, Monsieur Aziraphale. I will leave you both to rest. Bonne nuit.”

When the door clicked shut, the physical barrier between them and the world, Crowley tightened his hold on Aziraphale and sighed heavily. He had to figure out what they were going to do, how he was going to keep protecting Aziraphale even though he’d done a rotten job of it so far. Maybe Alpha Centauri was still on the table? Wouldn’t hurt to suggest it again, he supposed, except before he could even get the words formed, Aziraphale had turned himself around enough to press his face into Crowley’s chest and gave another small shudder. 

“It was Sandalphon,” Aziraphale whispered, “in my nightmare, I mean. He said he’d been sent to deliver punishment on me for letting you mount me and allowing myself to get pregnant. He tried to...to…”

“Shhh, it’s alright, Aziraphale. It was just a nightmare, remember? It wasn’t real. Not really, anyway.”

“But it  _ felt _ real! How could Hell know about the baby? Or Heaven, for that matter!”

Crowley gave another sigh and once again pressed his nose into those soft white curls. “I don’t know ‘bout Heaven, but I reckon once they found out, someone up there narked to Downstairs about it. Although…” He trailed off as another thought crossed his mind. 

“‘Although’?”

“Well, s’just, I was having nightmares, too. When I was abroad. Before I knew about the baby. ‘Fore either of us knew. I don’t think Downstairs told Mara to come torture us. I’d had dealings with them before, so makes sense they’d follow me to Romania. Take advantage of my sleeping for a few months to play with my head. But...you don’t sleep. Not till recently, at least.”

Aziraphale lifted his head, confusion evident on the scrunch of his face. 

“So, you're saying there's a chance Hell doesn't know about this, yet?" 

Crowley shrugged, made a few noises that would someday possibly turn into proper words before, "'M saying Mara doesn't need to know a persons location in order to torment them. Once they set their claws in you once, they can find you anywhere, is what I'm saying. So, even if Hell does know about you - about the ba - about any of this, they might not know  _ where  _ we are."

Hope sprang up anew in Crowley's chest. If Heaven and Hell didn't know where they were yet, he still had a chance to keep Aziraphale safe. At least until he could come up with a better plan than "keep the shield up, keep moving." The relief of that was almost enough to make him collapse against his angel. His angel that he just realized was speaking and looking at him worriedly.  _ Shit.  _

"Wot?"

Aziraphale frowned, hand outstretched but suspended in air like he wasn't sure if he could touch or not. Oh how Crowley wished he would. 

"Crowley, you weren't even listening to me. What is going on? You look terribly pale and... are you  _ perspiring? _ " 

"Uh…" Crowley reached up to rub across his forehead and cursed his blasted corporation for going against his wishes. "Yeah, must be. Warm. Anyway, drink your milk 'fore it gets cold and try to get some more sleep. We'll head out first thing. Still owe you crepes, after all." 

Something cold and determined crossed Aziraphale's face. Milk set back on the tray, he folded his arms across his chest and just stared Crowley down. Stubborn damned angel that he was. Still, Crowley at least  _ tried  _ to feign innocence. As much as a demon could, anyway. 

"Now what?"

"Do not 'now what' me, Crowley. Something is  _ wrong _ , I can  _ tell _ . Why won't you tell me what it is?"

“Nothing’s  _ wrong _ , Angel --” 

“You keep saying that and I know it’s not true! Now tell me what it is!”

“Nothing!”

“ _ Blessed all, Crowley! _ Just tell--”

Crowley launched himself off the bed. He needed to put some space between them before he did something stupid. Didn’t know what more stupidness he could come up with, but it was bound to be spectacular if he didn’t take a step back. Which turned to stalking around the room, hands fisted in his hair as he fought to keep himself under control. He wanted alcohol, extraordinary amounts of alcohol, and at  _ least _ a fifty-year nap. How could he explain everything to Aziraphale? Where to even begin? It was obvious his plan of keeping things to himself in order to keep Aziraphale from growing anxious and worried had backfired on him horribly, now he had to try and fix it. 

_ Wasn’t a very good angel, ‘m a terrible demon, and now ‘m not even a very good Alpha.  _ The little voice in the back of his head helpfully provided as he made one more pass around the room before stopping to drop his hands and turn his attention back on Aziraphale. Right then. Only one thing to do. Actually tell Aziraphale what was going on. Maybe then he’d stop worrying and settle down some. Last thing Crowley wanted was anything to happen to Aziraphale or their pup because Aziraphale worked himself into a tizzy. 

“I’m trying to keep you safe from Heaven and Hell! Alright? Are you happy now? That’s why we’re not still in London. I’m trying to keep you safe and if that means hopscotching us around the bloody  _ universe _ to stay one step ahead of those bastards, that’s what I intend to do. I don’t…” he glanced away, out the window and up to the bright stars overhead. When he continued, his voice was softer, not quite defeated, but almost. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. Don’t think I could live with myself if I lost you again. Especially now that...well...you know.”

The mattress squeaked and the wooden floorboard gave a soft groan as Aziraphale pushed himself off the bed and to his feet. Crowley turned, ready to protest and insist Aziraphale get back into bed, but stopped when he found himself with an armful of soft curves and curls. Aziraphale hugged him close for a moment before stepping back. Though -- Crowley somehow noticed through the screeching halt his mind was experiencing -- he didn’t take his hands off Crowley’s hips, but instead seemed to hold them firm and secure. 

“Crowley...you ridiculous, silly serpent,” he murmured as he looked up at Crowley through those long dark lashes of his. “Oh my dear Crowley...I would hate for anything to happen to you, too. Especially given our current circumstances. You needn’t try to do everything yourself, though, you know? I am still more than capable to help in whatever way I can.”

“No miracles,” Crowley growled. 

Aziraphale huffed and rolled his eyes, but nodded. “Fine, yes, no miracles. That doesn’t change the fact that I am still quite capable of dealing with things myself. You needn’t insist on performing whatever this ridiculous Alpha posturing thing is that you’re doing anymore. Now,” he paused and moved one hand to gently clasp with Crowley’s, their fingers slotted together easily, almost naturally. “Please come back to bed? I’d rather not try to fall back to sleep and risk another visit from...who was that, again?”

“Mar --” Crowley cleared his throat and his cheeks most certainly did  _ not _ flush pink at the sudden crack to his voice as he continued “--Mara. Demon of nightmares. One of the beings not created as an angel first.”

“Ah. Yes, well, as I was saying, I’d rather  _ not _ have another visit from them. So...perhaps you could come back to bed?” 

There seemed to be so much hope hidden in Aziraphale’s eyes, hope that he seemed to be trying to play off with nonchalance, but there just the same. Aziraphale actually wanted Crowley to stay in the bed with him. Not exactly a declaration of love or anything, but it was better than nothing, and call Crowley desperate but he would take whatever he could get. Besides, just like earlier that night when Aziraphale had originally asked him to stay, there was no way he could deny his angel anything, and he especially couldn’t pass up the chance to hold him again. Maybe if he were lucky, he could even imagine that they were back at the bookshop, snuggled into Aziraphale’s bed, and everything was perfectly fine. That they weren’t currently running from two factions that could and would kill them simply out of spite. 

It was a dangerous thing to imagine that they were more than what they were; he knew it would lead to heartbreak eventually, but Crowley nodded anyway and swallowed passed the lump in his throat. 

“Course, Angel. Whatever you want.” 

Aziraphale’s answering smile was that soft, shy one he gave whenever Crowley would humor him or give him what he’d asked for. Like that smile after he miracled the paint stain off Aziraphale’s favorite coat at the Manor. He could live the rest of his long life just off of those smiles alone. 

Neither of them spoke again as they made their way back to the bed and crawled under the covers. Once settled, Crowley found himself with an angel attached to him again and fought hard to hide his own pleased smile. Pregnancy seemed to make Aziraphale snuggly. Crowley could live with that. He could  _ definitely _ live with that. With a head full of white fluffy curls settled on his chest, a round tummy pressed to his lean side, and one arm wrapped securely across his middle, Crowley resigned himself to being trapped in the bed the rest of the night. 

Oh...what horrible, terrible, hardship that was. 

His smile grew a bit more when Aziraphale nuzzled his face into Crowley’s chest, sighed contentedly, and relaxed against him. In less than two minutes, quiet snuffles filled the air in the darkened bedroom. The stars twinkled outside the window and the silver glow of the moon kept watch over the pair as one demon fell straight to sleep and one angel stared out into the distance in silent thought and maybe even a small prayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a writer of very few friends. Please come find me on Tumblr...if you can cuz apparently something is screwy, but hopefully if you search for lt-commander-aly you should find me. I hope. Drop me an ask if you've followed me so I know you did and I can follow you back and hopefully get more friends. Cuz yeah, very, very few friends, me. 
> 
> And again, if anyone ever feels so inclined to make your own art for this, or podfic it or whatever, please please do! I'd love that so much!


	11. Chapter 11

"What do you _mean_ you can't find them?! It's a demon and a pregnant angel! How hard is it to keep track of that?" 

Cameron, the Earth Observation Specialist, shrunk back as Gabriel loomed over him. He'd heard the Archangel had flown off the handle a bit since the failed Armageddon, but he'd never had cause or reason to find out for himself. He was supposed to be observing Earth, after all, not the happenings of Heaven. 

Besides that, Cameron _liked_ Aziraphale and Crowley. He’d been observing them in secret for at least a couple of centuries, and honestly, he never saw what was so terrible about them. That was besides the point, though. Not to mention would have him in a Hellfire bath if anyone were to find out about that. 

Instead, all he could do was give a small shrug as he answered the Archangel. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t find them. One minute they were at Aziraphale’s bookshop, the next, gone. Completely out of sight.” 

Gabriel slowly slunk around his desk, violent violet eyes boring deep into Cameron, almost as if he were trying to resist the urge to smote the lesser angel where he stood. Luckily one of the things Cameron had been able to observe was the fact that, for all his boisterous tendencies, Gabriel wasn't, in fact, allowed to smote anyone. Not without just cause, anyway. Which, annoying an Archangel wasn't viewed as a "just cause". Well, not yet, at least. 

"I don't care what you do, how you do it, or where you have to go in order TO do it. _Find them!"_

Cameron blinked twice and nodded reluctantly. He didn't want to follow this particular order, but at the same time, he didn't want to push his luck with the whole being smote down where he stood business, either. 

"Forgive me for asking," he started, "but...why is it so important to find them? Didn't they already prove they've become something else? What's the point?"

If one were brave enough to look close, they would probably be able to see steam coming off the top of Gabriel's head, just like in those old cartoons the humans were so fond of. The anger just seemed to keep boiling and boiling. It was a wonder his face hadn’t turned bright red and a train whistle sprouted from his skull. 

“Do you know what happens to angels that ask too many questions? Hm?” Snarled Gabriel. “They become one of the Fallen. A _demon_. Which is what will happen to you if you don’t hup to and go find me those blessed idiots!” 

Cameron shrunk back the more Gabriel leaned in towards him. He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat and gave a nervous nod. Gabriel couldn’t actually sentence any angels into Hell, it wasn’t up to him to decide if anyone was to Fall or not, but there was something in his glare, something slightly unstable, that had Cameron worrying about it just the same. He tried not to cower, he tried to be brave and stand his ground, but reporting to an Archangel was intimidating at the best of times. It was downright terrifying when delivering bad news and having said Archangel towering over him, staring him into the polished white floor beneath his feet. 

Satisfied his demand would be followed, Gabriel's forced, fake smile stretched across his face again. With a clap of his hands, he sat back down behind his desk and reached for the phone that sat on top of the great ostentatious piece of furniture. He glanced back at Cameron with a blank expression. 

"I suggest you get to work, Campbell--"

"Cameron, Sir,"

Gabriel kept right on talking. It didn't matter to him what the smaller angel was called. "--find me Aziraphale and his demon."

Cameron turned to hurry from the room. There were times, many times in fact, that Gabriel enjoyed having such a high standing position. Watching the lower ranks scurry from sight had always been a high point of his days. 

He waited until he was sure the observationist was completely out of hearing range before he picked up his phone and dialed a number he knew by heart. Not that it was a hard number to forget, because it really wasn’t, but it was also one he’d called in secret on more than one occasion. 

“Yes,” he said when the other line picked up, “it’s me. Has our friend said anything, yet? ...hmm...no. I’ll be down shortly. Try not to kill them, hm?” 

Without waiting, and without another word, he hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. There were things he needed to know about Aziraphale’s pregnancy. There had to be a way to get to them. To get that cursed offspring _away_ from them. Perhaps he could use some Divine Intervention to miracle it out of that idiot Principality. He needed to know if that would be possible to do. There was only one being he could think of that would know (well, technically two, but no one had really seen much of God since her Son had returned home). 

~*~*~

There was no sound. None whatsoever. Not that one would expect Purgatory to be exciting or anything, but even tinny 1970s elevator music was better than absolute silence. It was also dark, extremely dark, completely devoid of all light. Or maybe that was just them. The silence and utter blackness surrounding them was uncomfortable and oppressing. All they could do was sit in the corner where they’d been thrown hours, no...days, could maybe have been months, ago. Sit and wait. 

Somewhere off to their right, a whoosh like a door opening sounded. Even that was muffled, though. Hard soled shoes clicked and clacked across the floor, accompanied by a more subdued shuffle sound -- like a petulant child dragging their feet behind their parent. 

“Well! How are we doing, today?” 

That voice, oh how they _hated_ that voice. 

“I’d spit in your face if I could,” they answered, head tilted in the direction of Gabriel’s annoyingly fake chipper voice. 

Gabriel tsked. 

“Now that is a very unangelic thing to say.” 

“Fuck. You.” they snapped. “How was that? Any better?”

Pain flashed hot across their cheek and their head whipped back, cracking into the wall behind them. Stars -- or at least the cartoon equivalence of them the humans came up with -- sparked in their mind’s eye and they took a moment to flex their jaw before spitting blood across the floor. Their only hope was some of it got on Gabriel’s pristine leather dress shoes. 

“Suppose not…” they mumbled. 

“Pravuil,” Gabriel chided in that condescending way of his, “really. You still haven’t learned? If I didn’t still need information from you, I probably would have had them take your tongue along with your eyes, but, well. A minor annoyance I’ll just have to deal with for a little while longer, hm?” 

Pravuil sneered and spit across the floor again before reclining back against the wall. Their arms folded across their chest. 

“Like I already told your little bitch, I don’t know _anything_ beyond what I was told to write down.” 

“Watch yourself, Pravuil. Do _not_ ever call them that again.” 

“Why? They’re your --”

“What ‘they’ are izzzz no concern of yourzzz, _angel_.”

“Oh, well how sweet. You brought them with. Date night, I take it?”

Another strike across their face, this time from the other side. 

Gabriel gave another clap and continued talking like he was in the middle of a boring board meeting. He always sounded like the over enthusiastic and optimistic office boss. Or a spokesperson for a crappy celestial communications network. Pravuil really wanted to question Gabriel about that, but it probably really wasn’t the time to ask why CelesComms became such a piece of --

“So! Since you seem to be in a talkative mood finally. I’m going to need you to tell me everything about this bastard thing Aziraphale has created.” 

Pravuil groaned and longed to roll their eyes, but there were empty voids where they once sat, so they settled with thunking their head back against the wall again. 

“One: Not a bastard _thing_ . I believe it’s what the humans call a _baby_. Much like what you are. Two: --” they continued, ignoring Gabriel’s insulted stammering “--I don’t know anything more about it. Three: Kindly fuck off.”

“I told you it wazzz useless to keep them alive,” grumbled Beelzebub. 

“We are not killing them, and that’s final. It’s obvious She meant something by this, otherwise why would She have told them to write it down and keep it archived?”

Pages flipped a moment before Gabriel read aloud, “ _Creation shall be at the hands of God the Almighty. Until the Alpha rises and the Omega falls to meet on middle ground, their union bearing neither angel nor devil, the two shall never meet again. For this is the ruling, the WORD, and the command of God the Almighty._ ” He then snapped the book closed and continued. “What did she mean by all of that? She obviously _knew_ this was going to happen.”

Pravuil reached up to run their good hand -- or rather, only hand -- down their face. 

“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase, ‘The LORD works in mysterious ways’? I don’t know what She meant anymore than you do. I’m just the messenger.” They paused, then smirked and huffed a soft laugh as they shook their head. “Oh wait, no, _you’re_ the messenger. Sorry. Didn’t want you to think I was stealing your job again.”

Gabriel gave a snarl so low and fierce it nearly had Pravuil pause and reconsider taunting him. 

“There _had_ to be more! If She saw this coming, She would have told you to write it down!” 

The book slammed to the floor next to them, causing them to jump in surprise. They wanted to reach out to pick it up, to hold it in their hand and feel the soft pages again, but with the sudden turn in Gabriel’s mood, it probably wasn’t a good idea. Instead, they did their best to sit very still. 

“I wrote those down before Time began,” they finally answered. “Do you know how many other things I had to write down and archive since then? Do you honestly expect me to remember if there was anything else about it? You _destroyed_ everything about Mating and Bonding! Remember?”

“Wait,” Beelzebub -- who had been quiet most of the time, so much so Pravuil almost forgot they were there -- cut in. “You did _what_ ? You _idiot_! Why destroy it all?”

“I couldn’t let it fall into the wrong hands.”

“Couldn’t let it fall into _their_ handzzzzzz you mean!”

“It was all useless information anyway! Nothing we didn’t already know.”

“Then why destroy it all?” Pravuil asked. For a moment, it almost felt like they were actually on the same side as Beelzebub. What a strange feeling that was. They could remember when Beelzebub had been an angel, when their name was Beariel and they would smile and zip about, _always_ zipped about, all bright blue eyes and long dark hair. Pravuil never dealt with them much back then, but there had been a few times they had come to the archive to drop off messages from Gabriel. 

“You! Stay out of this!” Gabriel snapped. “Do you have any idea what would happen if _they_ found out the truth?” 

Though that had obviously been directed towards Beelzebub, and undoubtedly a rhetorical question, Pravuil answered anyway. 

“Anarchy amongst Heaven and Hell? Angels might _finally_ get to Mate and Bond again? Bondmates could reunite? Heaven and Hell could come together again?” 

“ _Demons_ could also Mate and Bond again! We don’t need more _demons_ running around! Heaven and Hell can _never_ come together again! Do. You. Understand?” Gabriel punctuated with claps in between the syllables of those last three words in order to make a point. 

It was an annoying habit and not for the first time Pravuil wished _they_ could cut off one of _his_ hands just so he couldn’t do it anymore. There was a soft scoff and huff from the right side of the room, followed by the shuffled steps of one less than pleased sounding Prince of Hell. 

“Oh, of _course_ we can’t have _that_.”

“ _Bea_. Don’t start--”

“Don’t _Bea_ , me. I am in no mood for thizzzz right now.”

Pravuil listened as the two bickered back and forth. Just like an old married couple from TV. He frowned. Now there was a depressing thought. He’d never get to _watch_ his shows again. Simply listening to them wasn’t the same, but, he supposed it would have to do. With a thought, he manifested a small bag of freshly popped cinema popcorn. Listening to those two fight would be as good of practice as anything.


End file.
